


Caprices

by SilkCut



Series: Experimental Pairings or AUs [5]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types, The Sandman (Comics), xxxHoLic
Genre: M/M, Sexual Tension, crossovers, mystery?, semi-domesticity, survival shit, traveling and hunting together like bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 62,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7784854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilkCut/pseuds/SilkCut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A high-minded prince and a solitary king try to make sense of each other and the paths they must tread together while traversing an unknown wilderness they found themselves trapped in--and may possibly stay stuck in. </p><p>Certain things will be tested between them along the way, including the most fragile things they uphold dear.</p><p>+</p><p>|| An AU fic. It WILL DEFINITELY GET slashy between Gil and Arjuna. Eventually. But first, PLOT! ||</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Exile

**Author's Note:**

> This is an early birthday present written for Isla (@arujyuna_) from twitter. I also dedicate this to her friend Blythe (@okurikaras). They both introduced me to Arjuna's character. It's been fun interacting with him while I roleplayed Gilgamesh. I would also like to give a shout-out to Ishi (@wineandcarats) who got to read the draft of this fic first and was supportive about its continuation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arjuna struggles to define the days that spin madly on, and the miles to walk with an unlikely ally by his side.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

###  ca•price (kə-prēsˈ)

_A sudden, unpredictable action, change, or series of actions or changes_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

The dark smothered the ground they walked on for the first two nights; it was only by the third night when the moon finally revealed itself.

The sky since then became blanketed with what seemed like millions of stars, beacons in the uncertain dark. It became easier to travel nocturnally also, considering that the alternative would be to endure the scorching heat of the sun during noon when it was at its highest peak.

Arjuna was born in one of the hottest of places, and certainly the Mesopotamian king was no stranger to such a climate as well. Still, there is something about this never-ending wilderness that is actively trying to break their resolve, but neither Arjuna nor the king he had come to know as Gilgamesh would bend their wills against an enemy they have yet to fully know and successfully defeat.

“We must always strive for simplicity for both our sakes, and our ultimate survival,” the king had told him on the second day, when they finally agreed to lend each other aid. It hadn’t been easy at first; both men were far too bull-headed and entitled to their fixed ways to even reach a compromise; but that was until the threat of the wilderness forced them to ally with one another in the end.

They never truly knew how long they had been in this place, but Arjuna made note of the passing time anyway, assigning days in a neat mental row as they progressed through their journey. It was the sixth night of their travel now, and the king walked a few steps ahead of Arjuna as usual. This Gilgamesh who hailed from Uruk (as he proclaimed so confidently upon first meeting) was fair in every questionable way.

He has ridiculously shiny golden hair and an armor of the same color to match it. He opted to bare his torso, however, so the armor covered the lower half of his impressive body. Arjuna didn’t believe he was from Mesopotamia naturally, because how can a fair-skinned man belong to a royal clan of such repute? His complexion should be just as dusky as Arjuna’s, not lily-white. There was a cluster of red markings surrounding the king’s body which Arjuna had began to slowly memorize out of a lack of other things to do. He often sketched in private whenever they do stop to make camp and no longer have to be in each other’s line of sight.

The exercise started out as simple cartography, borne from the need to make sense of their surroundings. Arjuna drew certain landscapes and mapped out roads with as much likeness as he could manage using a journal he found on the second day here at the wilderness. He realized that he was a fairly adequate artist too, and that his drawings have been useful. They hardly ever get lost as soon as Arjuna improved on his cartography, and most especially when Gilgamesh himself took their routes more seriously and contributed in making them as accurate as possible.

On the second day—hours after the unpleasant dialogue he had with the king—Arjuna came across what looked like a small base camp where at least five or six people may have lived in. He walked around to ensure it was deserted, if not entirely abandoned, before he decided to start looting. There were some weapons like blades and small knives scattered in different tents which he packed using a bag he also took from the place. It was made of animal hide, probably a deer’s, and Arjuna gathered other valuables inside it such as perishable food he managed to save until that same night when he also had to share it with the king after brokering their truce.

It was inside the last tent where Arjuna acquired the journal. It was soaked when he found it, half-submerged in a puddle of rainwater on the ground. The pages bore no writings or illustrations at all. However, upon further inspection, Arjuna noticed that a quarter of its pages has been ripped off. That was ominous enough, but back then Arjuna was more concerned with gathering enough materials for his survival to even be bothered about the peculiarity of the journal’s appearance and what purpose it even served.

He just wrapped it in a linen sheet he found laying around and took it with him.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

The most worrisome aspect of their forced co-existence together is that neither of them really remembers how they came to be in this wilderness.

Arjuna only knew he woke up with a ringing in his ears. The king, on the other hand—after Arjuna decided to ask him about his own recollection on a later date after the truce—spoke of being summoned by a magus to fight in a war.

Gilgamesh was already standing from the moment Arjuna came to his senses. Arjuna could barely speak then, blinded by his golden armor and unbelievably, gratingly beautiful visage. But then the same vision of beauty glared down at Arjuna with his arms crossed and demanded an explanation—even threatening extermination if the ‘mongrel’ (that’s how he disrespectfully addressed Arjuna) failed to satisfy the king (how he called himself) with a sufficient answer. Arjuna almost forgot his manners and would have told the arrogant bastard to go fuck himself with a bamboo shoot, but his restraint and normally civil demeanor thankfully prevented that. A few more words were begrudgingly exchanged which Arjuna could barely recall now, and they had ended up walking in separate directions, determined to be rid of one another.

He did not feel famished at all, but he was surprisingly fatigued for some inexplicable reason, so he climbed one of the trees and slept on a sturdy branch. His ears still rang with a noise that was agonizing, so Arjuna could barely think straight, let alone worry about the nature of his coming here, and what exactly is _here._ Possibly six hours later, it was the dawn of a new day, and Arjuna felt refreshed enough. The ringing in his ears had disappeared, so to understand his quandary, he walked around aimlessly across the forestry until he found the deserted camp.

After picking up the wet journal, Gilgamesh appeared out of nowhere, but his manner had become less haughty in that moment. He seized Arjuna by the arms with an iron grip and then slammed him on a thick, old tree whose leaves have fallen and scattered on the ground. Arjuna was going to fight back until Gilgamesh covered his mouth with one hand and lifted a finger to his own lips to signal a need for silence.

Baffled by the actions this annoying stranger was making, Arjuna opted at first to give him a good kick in the groin, but a sudden chill ran down his spine when he realized that perhaps something more urgent is indeed occurring that could endanger them both. Gilgamesh had certainly acted like it, so Arjuna put aside any petty squabble he might want to pick with the other man, and chose self-preservation.

A whole minute passed. Gilgamesh had pressed him against the tree even further, as he turned his head to the side to indicate that he was listening for something from afar. Arjuna, meanwhile, did not appreciate being handled like a puny object and once or twice tried to wiggle out of the other man’s surprisingly powerful grasp. When it would seem as if Arjuna was going to be suffocated with the forceful hand on his mouth he was getting ready to bite, Gilgamesh finally met his gaze, and the pair of serpentine ruby eyes that greeted Arjuna struck him cold.

Breathing out hotly on Arjuna’s face, the king inquired, “Do you not hear that, mongrel?”

He lowered his hand from Arjuna’s mouth at last, and the prince hastily replied a curt, “No.”

“Too quiet,” Gilgamesh explained. “Something is not right with this place.”

He’d like to argue just to be contrary because he didn’t like being trapped in the persistent hold of a blatantly conceited man such as he who kept calling him mongrel, but Arjuna felt that prickling sensation down his spine again so he was forced to re-evaluate his surroundings. Gilgamesh was right; it was deathly still and silent around them. The leaves of the tree they were standing on didn’t even rustle.

As if on cue, they looked up to inspect the shade above, and came to a hurried and horrific conclusion that instead of leaves the tree had teeth.

And the leaves that crunched on their feet as they stood together were patches of burnt human skin and choice cuts of organs.

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

They made camp by the first light on the seventh morning of their stay, since they had gotten more used to travelling nocturnally, and their body clocks had already adjusted to that arrangement. Arjuna would often give himself an hour and a half to sketch new landscapes since he could only do it when there’s enough light. Right now, however, he had nothing to draw, save of course Gilgamesh’s mysterious markings. The prince instead went through his past illustrations; particularly that of the massacre which occurred on the base camp Arjuna looted from a week ago it seems.

Upon discovery that there is an eerie presence around said camp, he and Gilgamesh began covering all the bases for any foreseeable attack. There was no one, but that awful sensation of suffocating watchfulness from the depths of nowhere was something Arjuna cannot shake off. It put him in the worst of moods. His fingers had itched for his bow and arrow, and that’s when it hit him that he has been deprived of his valuable weapons.

The king noticed and commented, “It seems I’m not the only one who cannot access tools.”

Arjuna couldn’t help glaring suspiciously at the other man. “What of it? Do you know something I don’t?”

And Gilgamesh had shaken his head and then nodded towards the bag Arjuna had been carrying around. “What did you manage to collect?”

“Blades,” he merely answered. After a prolonged pause, he added. “And a journal of some sort.”

“Anything written?” Gilgamesh’s interest was piqued. “Maybe something to explain what happened in here?”

Arjuna hesitantly placed a hand near his stomach area where the journal was concealed, right there inside his pristine white achkan. Without his eyes ever leaving the king’s, he unzipped a hidden pocket on the side of his clothing so he can retrieve it. To his mild surprise, Gilgamesh only had to take a step forward so he can reach out to push his hand inside Arjuna’s achkan where an opening was made bare.

He didn’t even do it out of impatience, considering the calmness of his gaze when he caught Arjurna’s shocked expression. The prince could only gawk stupidly at Gilgamesh, who rummaged through his body as if it was a cabinet.

The journal was nestled comfortably between the overlapping layers of Arjuna’s angarkha which he wore underneath. It was easy for Gilgamesh to take out the journal especially when the prince was too stunned to offer a verbal protest.

However, Arjuna swore the bastard’s fingers lingered on his abdomen for a second longer than what was necessary, brushing the tips of those pale, lithe digits on the prince’s skin with an ambiguous intent. Arjuna felt his jaw tighten and his eyes flash angrily for a brief moment. He quickly curtailed his temper and said nothing as Gilgamesh began scanning the damp, empty pages.

At present, Gilgamesh rolled over to glance at Arjuna from the area where he had chosen to lay for this morning’s camp. The king always preferred to stay inside any cave they could find and claim as their own. He would spend some time gathering an assortment of twigs and leaves on the way as they traversed the wilderness, which he would later use as a substitute for a mattress. Arjuna never bothered; he opted to slump against a wall and doze off. His back may hurt for a bit, but the hours of travelling on foot usually set his muscles right in place.

“Are you obsessing over that again?” Gilgamesh inquired. This indicated he knew what Arjuna was looking at in the journal.

“As far as obsessions go, it’s a healthy one,” Arjuna reasoned out as he flipped through a page, running a delicate finger on his imitation of the crime scene. “It’s been seven days now. We still have not figured out how we got here, where we are, and what manner of creature could have killed those people from the camp. Are you not at least alarmed by the dreary circumstances? Our dwindling lack of resources?”

“Hero prince,” Gilgamesh replied, pausing dramatically so he can slowly sit up and expose the nakedness of his upper torso which the shafts of light from the sun somewhat enhance in beauty—Arjuna scoffed at catching himself looking at the other man in that manner again.

The king has been either coquettish or lethargic around him, and it is frankly starting to get on his nerves.  He wasn’t sure if Gilgamesh was just normally like that with anyone. He would often be intensely contemplative when they don’t talk to each other, but Arjuna could feel his stares like a blunt force to the head. The king would be glibly euphemistic on rare occasions as well, probably to get a rise out of Arjuna, but the prince wouldn’t budge or react visibly even if in his mind he was often wishing he could slap or kick the arrogant Mesopotamian legend.

“The wilderness is abundant with animals for us to kill and eat,” Gilgamesh had an odd cadence in his voice that made him sound as if he was perpetually bemused about things. “We’re both skilled hunters, so we never had any problem in that regard. So, our circumstances are not dreary at all. Don’t exaggerate, little prince. Your youth is showing when you act like a worrywart.”

Ignoring the belittlement, Arjuna interjected instead, “Except there is a monster that lurks and stalks us.”

“You can’t prove that,” Gilgamesh’s tone was chiding, almost a remark made out of boredom.

Arjuna had risen from his comfortable position near a large rock and glared vehemently at the king as he lifted the journal in view. “And what do you call what he have witnessed before? Was that not a work of a malignant force we don’t even have a name for? What if it strikes us and we are caught unprepared because we have gone lax and overconfident of our own abilities? What then?”

“Do not presume to scold me, mongrel.”

“I am no mongrel,” Arjuna would viciously shoot a multitude of arrows into the king’s ruby eyes if only he had his trusted Agni Gandiva with him. "We both know I am just as divine as you, even more so, seeing as you are one-third mortal."

Gilgamesh never broke eye contact with Arjuna, not since this conversation started—never once when they first allowed themselves a few moments of idle chat under the scorching heat of the sun, and then when they switched to travelling at night, with nothing but the brilliant star-studded sky serving as companions across the eerie wilderness that could engulf them with one false move.

The king’s stare never wavered when it’s on Arjuna, always appraising, ever observant. And Arjuna despised it; and this growing familiarity festering between them like an adhesive element sticking to his pores. He despised it even more now, because Gilgamesh seemed both aware of it and not, laying there on his pathetic excuse of a bed which looked regal only because his body is cradled by it.

It was Arjuna who always looked away first. The modesty of that singular action never failed to make him feel filthy somehow.

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

They stood under the shade once more, watching with mixed awe and dread the horrific curiosity displayed above their heads; a hundred sets of teeth attached loosely on the wilted branches. The only thing that guaranteed they could not be fake was that most of them still have the mushy, rotting flesh of ripped jaws hanging on desperately around their edges. Arjuna could look no more, though the cringe-worthy fascination stayed.

There is something precise about the savagery of this violence. Whatever did this took its time. It required focus and attention down to the last detail—of tearing out the jaw with a hacking instrument of some kind, of cracking the bone like eggshell, of tasting the headiness of moist pus and warm blood spilling out even without necessarily slurping it with your own tongue.

“What could have done this abomination?” Arjuna muttered almost to himself, shaking off the stupor of his grim imagination.

“It’s probably someone who is artistically-inclined. You can’t deny the decorative characteristic of such a ritual.”

“This does not repulse you?” Somehow, Arjuna considered the other man’s attitude more disgusting than the carnage around them.

Instead of answering that, the golden-armored warrior turned his body coyly to the side as he crossed his arms, saying, “We’ve never been properly introduced. I am Gilgamesh of Uruk, King of Heroes and all of creation. Who am I addressing? Speak.”

He was truly a magnificent sight to behold; imposing, self-contained though undeniably smug. But Arjuna recognized the royalty and prestige of his name very clearly so as much as he found the other man disagreeable, he still felt obliged to show decorum.

“Arjuna of the Pandava,” he said as courteously as he could fake though a trickle of derision managed to seep through, “Prince and Awarded Hero.”

That earned a chuckle from the one who called himself Gilgamesh. He looked down on the ground polluted by burnt human skin and organs and remarked, “It might be best to form an alliance after all, young prince. This is a strange place, and neither of us knows its name or how we came to stumble upon it. Perhaps it may not be pure chance. Perhaps someone wanted us here.” He finally met Arjuna’s eyes. “It’s wise to pair up, yes?”

Since he has yet to gather enough information to form a concrete perspective on things, Arjuna opted to nod curtly.

“We must always strive for simplicity for both our sakes, and our ultimate survival,” the King of Heroes as he called himself added, “If we can avoid complications between us, the better. I don’t want to be here any more than you do.” His gaze traveled to the bag Arjuna had worn on his side. “Are you sure you have gathered everything that can be useful?”

Arjuna could not help himself as he replied, “If you are so inclined to check again, then be my guest, sire."

Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes but he didn’t look offended by the response. He merely smiled. The expression did not soften the hypnotic allure of those red, red eyes at all. He turned around, calling after Arjuna as he walked ahead, “How blessed I am to be stuck with a comedian at least.”

He did not immediately follow after the king. Instead, Arjuna bent down to pick up what looked to be a nose. It was charred but some of its features were still recognizable. The cartilage of bones was intact as well. He dropped it back then rubbed his gloved hands together as if the soot and rot would ever go away now that he had tainted himself with it.

 

 

 

 

 ~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

Arjuna could not sleep. The journal was still on his lap, the pages flitting every now and then whenever a gush of wind would come. In the dark corner of the cave, Gilgamesh was snoring softly in intervals. The twigs and leaves underneath him would snap each time he stirred. The prince wasn’t watching him, but he was aware of Gilgamesh nevertheless, as if every movement from the King of Heroes was a continental shift of land. Disturbed by how keen his alertness was especially when he should be sleeping, Arjuna now looked down at his hand. The nails of his thumb and index finger had been darkened by the charcoal he’d been using for sketching. He searched through the bag to see how much charcoal he had left, and whether or not it could still last them for a few more weeks in case they need to map out something new in the wilderness. 

How far do they still have to trek? Will they ever stop walking and looking for a way out? There were no mountains in this wilderness at all. They only found a few hills and several fields where an abundance of plants neither of them has ever encountered before grew, but there is no summit for them to climb and reach; no other way to see through the expanse of this forestry except climb some high trees, and even then the lush greenery would stretch for miles and miles that not even Arjuna’s sharp eyesight could see the end of. The wilderness is winning; he could feel it closing in. And, sometimes—sometimes Arjuna lets it get to him.

But then Gilgamesh suddenly spoke from the dark, interrupting his thoughts, “Get some shuteye, Arjuna,” he almost grumbled while an arm stretched to pull at the hem of his achkan. That’s when Arjuna realized that he started pacing around the cave, and reached the King of Heroes where he slumbered. The king’s hand now encircled around his ankle as he added, “Don’t make me tackle you to the ground.”

“I don’t even know anymore,” he muttered, not caring if the king heard.

And he did, inquiring, “What are you complaining about now?”

“Going home,” Arjuna decided to divulge as he slowly fell to his knees beside Gilgamesh. “I don’t know where that even is anymore.”

The King of Heroes is silent except for his breathing that echoed in tiny waves, thrumming against the stones. His hand was on Arjuna’s thigh but there was no pressure in his touch. He didn’t grasp or squeeze that spot but he allowed his hand to stay there, immobile and uncaring of what it could mean for them. And then Gilgamesh remarked, “Home doesn’t have to be a place.”

For some reason Arjuna understood what he was going to say next, so he announced it himself, “Home could also be a person.”

He recalled hearing or reading such a proverb somewhere. His memories were treacherous, however. Even in dreams he does not recognize himself. He wasn’t the one who lopped off the head from the body. Those weren’t his lack of tears. He swore he should have been crying back then, or he could have truly not felt a damn thing about it when all is said and done.

Arjuna knew that one of these days—if the wilderness did take him for good—that the dreams of Karna would cease to be a haunting; and yet the past has an impossible long reach, and Arjuna could not run— _would not_ run—from the ghouls of belated guilt and anguish.

So he draped himself over Gilgamesh now, arms enveloping the other man in something akin to an embrace but not.

“You’re heavier than you look,” the king spoke up but made no visible motion that he minded the random contact of their bodies

“I don’t know if the pieces of what I’m remembering from my life are factual,” Arjuna disclosed, still clinging loosely around the other man. “And I think that the… _emotions_ that are supposed to be associated with them don’t fit.”

Gilgamesh finally pushed him away, but not out of unkindness. He did it so he can peer at Arjuna’s face closely. A hand cupped the prince’s chin as soon as Arjuna was sitting upright again, facing the other man. Gilgamesh was also sitting now, his red eyes wine-dark because of the minimal light coming from the left side where the cave’s opening welcomed the sunrise. “What ails you?” he asked Arjuna.

The prince pulled his hands to himself, clenched into fists against his chest, as if he was ashamed to have touched the king just seconds ago.

“There is a power here in this place that seemed to be messing with my mind, Gilgamesh,” he tried to explain.

“It could be that or possibly something more mundane than you think,” the other man replied as he scooted over and gestured down, “Lie with me and put aside your anxiety. Perhaps the warmth of another person’s body would offer some solace to your troubled thoughts. We have another travel ahead of us after all so I need you strong and well-focused.”

Arjuna shook his head but not because he was rejecting the offer of companionship but rather because he was disagreeing with the other thing. “We should stop walking for at least a day. You are right. I admit that my mind is wrought and I need more rest than I’m letting on. It’s not as if this wilderness will thin out. What a wondrous idea that would be, though.” He let out a grim chuckle before he paused.

And then he resolutely suggested, “We’ve already made camp here in the cave, and it’s in a rather perfect condition to house us. Later at noon, I could hunt for food and you can keep watch. What do you say, King of Heroes?

“If you need rest, then let me hunt,” Gilgamesh stretched himself down the makeshift bed of twigs and leaves once more. Arjuna eyed the rest of the other man. The king had discarded his armor completely this time. Days before, he had only taken off the upper portion of the armor so they can use it to carry together the load of dead small animals like rabbits and birds they have hunted and killed. He had never taken off the lower portion until now. Arjuna did wonder how the king moved gracefully and hastily when his armor was made of gold. He had never seen Gilgamesh fatigued at all, or perhaps he merely knew how to conceal it better.

Arjuna met the other man’s eyes now when he replied, “As you like. Thank you, Gilgamesh.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he answered with a chuckle as he tapped a hand at the empty spot where he expected Arjuna to take his place.

The prince conceded and laid next to Gilgamesh. They were close enough to make the entire arrangement intimate in nature which wasn’t entirely impossible, given the obvious temptation. Neither of them spoke for a whole minute as they stared blankly on each other’s faces, half-hidden in the shadows. Finally, the king spoke up first and said, “How many women shared your bed as your wives, Arjuna? Surely you had several.”

“I don’t remember,” he answered truthfully, blinking.

“Any siblings?” Gilgamesh draped an arm around Arjuna but kept the small distance between them.

“Yes,” Arjuna’s tone was that of finality, indicating he didn’t approve this line of questioning.

“I’m trying to figure out what you remember and what you can’t,” Gilgamesh explained, “—especially what you refuse to remember.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arjuna turned his back against Gilgamesh now, shoving away the arm that was cradling him.

Another whole minute passed. Arjuna’s mind was finally quieting down as his eyelids drooped. That was when Gilgamesh’s next question came.

“Do you want us to copulate, Arjuna?”

“Yes,” the prince replied easily enough, “But I don’t think we should.”

“I agree,” Gilgamesh sounded unusually detached. “Sex will only be a complication.”

“We must always strive for simplicity for the sake our survival,” Arjuna recited the rule they agreed upon before he started yawning. After another pause so he could slide just a few inches away from the king, he added, “That’s not to say that this is not a flattering invitation, Gilgamesh. I have eyes after all, and your beauty is definitely made to be seen.”

“So you have been looking all this time, eh?” The smugness in his tone made the pit of Arjuna’s stomach flip all of a sudden. His mind is already made up on the matter, and yet his body seemed to rebel against that pragmatic decision.

Arjuna ignored it—as well as the nearness of the King of Heroes behind him—and focused on falling asleep.

 

 

 

 

 ~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

They didn’t even get that far before they found the pyre.

Arjuna didn’t dare go near it since he figured out what it was the moment the scent of lingering smoke hit his nostrils. But Gilgamesh was undisturbed, as if he had seen something like it before. There was a boldness to the king that bordered on recklessness—or maybe it was simple ambivalence. Arjuna was beginning to question forming an alliance with him in the first place. Could he really trust this man who claimed to hail from the ancient land of Mesopotamia when he looked nothing like the legend he was based on? The golden armor and his overall presence screamed royalty, but Arjuna remained skeptical no less. The only comforting factor about this scenario was that Gilgamesh confessed he had no access to his own weapons, and Arjuna was the one who carried the blades he looted from the tents earlier.

“All of this ruckus just to make a decorative display of the body parts of its victims?” Gilgamesh commented dryly as he leaned closer to inspect the pyre. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, acting as if he was a teacher simply admiring a student’s project. His expression was of utter bemusement as he added, “Someone clearly has a lot of time to spare.”

“It’s not safe,” Arjuna pointed out. “The creature who had committed these heinous acts may not be around now, but it could come back here at any time. We must make haste and leave unless you’d rather stay here like sitting ducks, and wait to be picked out.”

“You don’t look like someone who would back down from a fight,” the king glanced at him from across the pyre, smirking.

“I prefer to make sure I have the advantage over my opponent,” Arjuna countered, almost scowling as he did. “And to know exactly what my opponent is capable of before forming an attack plan.”

“Is this not a fine enough example of our phantom enemy’s work?” Gilgamesh gestured lazily at the pyre.

Arjuna tightened his grip on the strap of the bag he carried. “I don’t see your point. Do speak plainly.”

Gilgamesh swept a hand across the pyre. He took a handful of the coals which have cooled off by now, and looked like he was measuring their weight on his palm. Arjuna waited for a response which only came after the king crushed the coals slowly. He said, “It’s easier—even reassuring—for us to think that an outside party had committed these things, isn’t it? But should we not also entertain the notion that one of us could have done this, and is now currently misleading the other into believing we are to be trusted?”

The gaze he had given Arjuna was a challenging one, as if he was asking for a punch in the face. The prince may be gracious enough to grant it, but he did not. Instead, he decided to engage on the hypothetical scenario Gilgamesh offered. After all, it was actually reasonable, and worth a discussion. Arjuna’s stance was relaxed, with an expression perfectly composed as he crossed one arm to cup his other elbow, and then lifting up that arm to so he can rest two fingers on his temple. A half-condescending smile formed on his lips.

“Let’s say that one of us is the perpetrator,” Arjuna began, “Then shall we hear your accusation as to why you suspect that I have done this?”

“We went our separate ways yesterday,” Gilgamesh replied, brushing an imaginary dust from his pristine golden armor. “A lot could have happened in between. And you were the one who was looting the camp. You could have easily massacred the people who lived there, and then feigned shock and innocence when I caught you still lurking around. It’s an obvious conclusion.”

“A well-informed theory, King of Heroes,” Arjuna responded coolly. “But what does that say about your own whereabouts? I doubt you just happened to come across me in the camp by accident. Perhaps you were returning from your trip here to the pyre where you have carried the victims’ bodies to hack and burn. Wouldn’t you say that is plausible as well?”

Gilgamesh was grinning now, showing all of his teeth but it looked more as if he was revealing his fangs.

“Ho…” he said, “I can’t deny that either of us could be the killer. However, the one thing that most killings should have is motive. So, why would either of us kill those people at the camp? I’ll tell you yours…” He simply gestured at the bag Arjuna was carrying.

“But why implement such theatrics then? Why would I, as the hypothetical murderer, waste my time torturing these people if I only want their belongings?” Arjuna countered, allowing himself a chuckle. “Whoever did this is someone who has a dramatic flair—someone who probably believes butchery is a form of entertainment, a savage who takes pleasure in the suffering of others.”

He gave the King of Heroes a suggestive look which was barely even subtle.

“You’re mistaken, Prince and Awarded Hero,” Gilgamesh quirked an eyebrow. “There is no pleasure to be found in this violence. However, I may have a rather scholarly interest in it.” He inclined his head to the side and narrowed those serpentine eyes.

“What is so intellectually stimulating about this?” Arjuna risked two steps forward, maintaining eye contact.

“Don’t lie to me, prince, for I know that you also find the method of the execution intriguing,” Gilgamesh also took two steps forward, uncrossing his arms. His gait was purposeful, as if he was stalking prey. “Come now, I know the expression of a man who is admiring wreckage." 

Arjuna saw no reason to deny that there was a fascination on his part, but it also doesn’t necessarily mean it would ever outweigh his moral outrage over the ritualistic killings. But he didn’t care to justify himself so he just shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the pyre he was now standing close to. Speaking in a calm tone, he told the other man, “The matter is simple. I didn’t do it. You didn’t do it…” he met Gilgamesh’s eyes, “I consider myself a good judge of character, and as disagreeable your overall countenance and attitude are, King of Heroes, I don’t think you have committed this atrocity at all. I think you believe that is the case with me also. That’s the only reason we are engaging in this amusing line of questioning when we could easily try to kill each other right now if we truly believe one of us was lying.”

“And so the alliance still stands,” Gilgamesh remarked with a smirk before he began to walk to the other side of the pyre where Arjuna used to be standing on not a minute ago. To the prince’s surprise, he suddenly ripped the red cloak that was a part of the lower half of his golden armor, bent down, and began gathering leftovers of coal and charcoal from the pyre. Without waiting for the question to be asked, Gilgamesh said simply, “I am as prideful as you think—and probably more so—but I understand the situation perfectly well, and I will do my part in this alliance of ours and aim to be as cooperative as long as you extend the same courtesy.”  He stood upright again as he tied the red cloak into a knot.

“Thank you,” Arjuna replied without realizing that he did, and felt awkward about it so he cleared his throat and added with some emphasis, “We must start travelling before the night catches up to us. Or something else does.”

Gilgamesh picked up a fallen branch and turned it into a smooth, long stick that he could attach the red bundle to so it’d be more convenient to carry. Gazing back at Arjuna with that bemused smile, he said, “Feel free to lead the way.”

“And you shall follow? You, the King of Uruk?” Arjuna could not help the tinge of sarcasm in his tone.

“Only because you have my permission, prince, to lead this quest, so try not to be a disappointment.” Gilgamesh slung the bundle on his back by using the stick. He stood there for a few seconds while Arjuna remained where he was. Scoffing now, the king remarked. “What is this? Were you expecting we hold hands while we trek the forest together? Pick a direction and start walking, prince.”

Arjuna scoffed too, but offered no comeback as he turned left and forged on, clenching and unclenching a gloved hand as he quickened his pace. He could hear Gilgamesh trailing behind. The hollow sound of his golden armor clinking every now and then was rather melodic, which the prince focused on so he could filter the otherwise sinister silence of the endless stretch of jungle around them.

 

 

 

 

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They did not anticipate the blackness that took over when night finally came. 

Arjuna pressed his back against a boulder as his eyesight tried to adjust in spite of the tar-like quality of the dark that greeted his senses. Beside him was Gilgamesh who was saying something about how unnatural a phenomenon this darkness was.

“This is definitely not an ordinary wilderness,” he muttered under his breath as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear but Arjuna. Perhaps he was finally learning to be more cautious, which Arjuna welcomed readily.

Blindly, he reached out to grip what he hoped was Gilgamesh’s shoulder. “We can’t travel like this. There is nothing else to do now but rest.”

“Where though?” the king’s sharp tone of annoyance indicated he may be starting to share Arjuna’s anxiety for the first time.

“The trees,” Arjuna suggested easily. “At least I hope we’re near trees.”

“Who could even climb in this wretched dark?” Gilgamesh was still complaining. It was almost endearingly immature.

“You’re right, of course,” Arjuna let out a chuckle. A thought occurred to him all of a sudden. “Listen, King of Heroes. When we went our separate ways, I immediately sought rest and fell asleep on a tree. The reason I did was because I experienced a grueling sort of pain in my head—it was like a migraine but so much worse. I knew I must have slept through the night because when I woke up, it was already morning.” A pause. “Since you are also as surprised as I am upon encountering this type of nightfall—”

“Yes,” came Gilgamesh’s hurried answer. “I suffered the same excruciating ringing sound in my ears that made it hard to stay conscious.”

Arjuna believed it since he left out that detail about the ringing sound which could only meant the king had indeed befallen to the same kind of inexplicable affliction. “What could it mean then? It can’t be a coincidence that we have the same condition upon our arrival to this place.”

“There are no such things as coincidences, Arjuna,” the other man replied as their shoulders bumped against each other. “Somebody put us here.”

“But nothing could explain this kind of night, black as sin itself.”

“No,” Gilgamesh remarked. “But we’re both tired and hungry to come up with rational explanations and neither should we force ourselves when our vision is deprived this way. And since we can’t eat, we should instead sleep.”

“I have found some sustenance back in the camp,” Arjuna slowly slipped down to the ground and began rummaging through the contents of his bag. He could hear Gilgamesh sit beside him as well. “A few meat cuts and a loaf of bread at least.”

“Very well,” the king answered. “We ration that food until such time we can kill an animal later in the morning.”

“Agreed,” Arjuna answered as he grabbed the bread first and took his time breaking it into two pieces. He couldn’t be sure how much share he was giving himself and the king because it was still impossible to see anything, but he managed to reach for Gilgamesh who took his hand and felt for the piece of bread Arjuna offered with the other. They ate in silence, savoring the scarcity of food as it barely filled their stomachs.

He could hear Gilgamesh undoing his armor in the dark. Arjuna turned his head to the sound and grimaced. “Are you sure you should—”

The king cut him off, “It’d be rather unpleasant to rest one’s head on an armor made of gold, is it not?”

“What do you mean?” But Arjuna already knew what he was getting at. It still shocked him when he felt Gilgamesh’s fingers encircle around his wrist to pull him closer. Arjuna found himself doing just that, as he dragged himself across the ground they were sitting on. Protesting out of propriety’s sake, he said, “You shouldn’t bother. I’m perfectly fine having the boulder to rest on.”

“But I’m not,” Gilgamesh curtly answered, “And it’s cold.”

“Then put on your armor,” Arjuna didn’t pull away, however, when he felt the king wrapped an arm behind his back loosely.

“Be silent and try to sleep,” Gilgamesh scolded Arjuna as he pushed down the prince’s head so it can rest on the crook of his shoulder.

The temperature was indeed freezing, and the warmth of Gilgamesh’s body was putting Arjuna at ease—which was troubling.

“Are you feeling embarrassed about the closeness, prince?” Gilgamesh teased, whispering the question like a secret. “Or perhaps it arouses you?”

In response, Arjuna elbowed him sharply on his chest. Gilgamesh’s laughter spilled across the darkness that engulfed them.

It wasn’t entirely an unpleasant sound.

 

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...they didn't even get to do any sexy stuff? Well, ya know, priorities. It's pretty hard to get hard together, given the circumstances, you know what I'm saying? Obviously, there's going to be a second chapter. I'll be writing it as soon as I finish another recent ongoing fic I'm working on in the same fandom :p


	2. The Pact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arjuna and Gilgamesh strike a deal to begin solving the puzzle of their exile, in spite the shortcoming of their memories.

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They had woken up almost at the same time. There was warmth everywhere, it seems, but Arjuna refused to open his eyes even as light poured onto his face in a greeting so rude and invasive. He rolled to his left side in protest, scoffing under his breath. Someone was clutching him, tightening the hold, and for a while he considered it the most natural thing in the world.

There was a heartbeat that matched his, a rhythmic rise and fall of the chest. Arjuna sighed into it and then he stiffened. Opening his eyes too quickly that it made his vision a little hazy, the prince sat up and glanced at the sleeping figure under him. His abrupt movement caused Gilgamesh to stir, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he muttered some incomprehensible thing under his breath.

Arjuna’s first inclination was to hurriedly stand up, gather his bearings, and put a long stretch of distance between himself and the other man.

He apologized to the King of Heroes instead, weakly and half-meant.

Slowly, Arjuna moved away. He sat on the ground a good yard away from Gilgamesh this time, allowing them both the space. The other man sat up with an expression of grumpiness etched in his face. He raked a hand through locks of hair which have fallen now to his forehead. Upon first meeting, it stood up like a golden flame on his head, making him even more intimidating to gaze at. Not that he looked any less regal now, especially since his hair remained spun gold and shimmered impossibly as the light cascaded through each strand.

Arjuna had the urge to reach out and grip his hair, imagining it as insubstantial and not meant to be held.

“What a terrible night that was,” Gilgamesh spoke up groggily before eyeing Arjuna carefully. “I am famished! Must we hunt? Can’t we just eat the rest of the rations?” He paused. “No matter, it’s probably best to ignore the hunger and start walking so we can explore more of the territory.”

He slowly stood up and stretched out his arms. The lower portion of his armor clinked beneath him.

Arjuna wasn’t paying attention. He was immediately fixating on the red markings across the king’s torso. The pattern was interesting and he could not help deliberately memorizing the outlines. Gilgamesh must have noticed this, for he ran a hand from his chest down to his abdomen, tracing the red lines languidly as if in invitation. Arjuna moved closer and this time reached for contact, and it surprised him in hindsight that the other man didn’t mind it. The prince’s fingers mapped the markings curiously, muttering something about forgotten languages of old that could manifest certain magical properties. He was talking to himself with a hint of scholarly enthusiasm, ignoring Gilgamesh completely as both of his hands now explored the lines as if his measured touches would unlock their secret.

The King of Heroes chuckled now and leaned close—closer than Arjuna would have liked, and remarked, “Your attention flatters me, prince. You have quite deft hands.” He let out what almost sounded like a purr as Arjuna shifted his gaze upwards to meet the other man’s.

Gritting his teeth, he snatched his hands away and stepped back, “Never mind, sire. I meant no disrespect. I apologize.”

“I did not feel disrespected at all. Don’t make presumptions,” the king smirked. “I shall be the judge of what offends me or not.”

“A relief,” Arjuna had already turned his back away from Gilgamesh. “I can only hope that you remain as patient with me as I will be with you.”

An interval or two of silence stretched between them, coiled and tense, almost as if it was tangible. Arjuna busied himself pretending to fix his white gloves. They have become corroded with dirt and it upset him enough that he peeled them off brusquely—scoffing under this breath, glaring at the repulsive appearance of what was once a part of his body. He recalled the burnt nose he had retrieved from the ground yesterday. It reeked of a stench that cannot be washed off. It’s in his pores. Arjuna’s head became heavy with a burden that was foreign.

When a hand touched his shoulder, he shook it off without another thought, snapping his head towards Gilgamesh, baring his teeth.

“Calm, prince,” the other man’s tone was consoling yet stern. His hand gripped Arjuna’s shoulder once more. He then turned him so they could face each other. “I’ve thought about this since last night, and I believe that this place has a way of screwing with us, and that our perceptions might not be as objective as we thought they are. The inexplicable darkness last night could only mean that this is an unnatural place, and we best take more precautions now in case we become prey to its other traps.”

“You think there could be more surprises?” Arjuna grasped at the bag from the ground and stared through Gilgamesh, disturbed by his words.

“I think all that might await us are surprises,” the king answered with a chuckle. He picked up the rest of his armor and took his time putting it back on as Arjuna watched. The red markings disappeared as the gold enveloped the other man’s upper torso once more. Arjuna glanced at his gloveless hands, feeling rather agitated. He had touched Gilgamesh with the dirtied gloves earlier, probing his skin with a familiarity that should only be reserved between equals. What a mistake. Arjuna didn’t like forgetting his social graces like that, not with the King of Heroes especially, not when there are nothing but trees and some unknown malevolent forces that surrounded them.

After Gilgamesh had finished, they started trekking the land but with an aimlessness that undermined the urgency of their expedition. Arjuna familiarized himself with each tree and trail of overgrowth, but was distracted by the questions he had about coming here and why. He glanced at the king and asked with some reluctance, “What do you remember? When you lost consciousness due to the migraine, did you—did you start remembering some things? Or did you become even more disoriented?”

“I surmise you are basing this on your personal experience?” Gilgamesh still slung on his shoulder the stick where the bundle of coals was attached. No one will mistake him for a vagrant though, not with his air of self-importance and wealth. “I would admit that my memories have been jumbled since the first day. It could have been the effect of the transportation to this place. Or perhaps whoever had brought us here wanted to make sure we don’t remember a few important things. It makes sense.”

“Why bring us here anyway? To torture and kill us like the people back at that camp? They seemed ordinary mortals enough.” Arjuna glared forward, his boots sinking a few centimeters on the soft wet soil under them. “We are not, however. You and I are offspring of known gods.”

“What if our captor is as well?” The king’s tone was that of eternal bemusement once more.

Arjuna didn’t share it. “You think we are being held captive by another divine creature?” he shot the king a look.

Gilgamesh shrugged his shoulders. He was clearly just spouting these theories to play devil’s advocate. “Or perhaps they perceive us as children of lesser gods. A ridiculous notion, of course. The gods who created and birthed me are the oldest in Earth there is.” He scoffed and added, “They will pay for this insolence and inconvenience soon enough, prince.”

“Somehow I don’t find that comforting given the state of things,” Arjuna admitted. “I have no access to my bow. And what of your weapons?”

Gilgamesh was quiet for a while, walking with a grace that almost seemed as if he was gliding. Finally, he replied. “That is the one thing that is eating at me, prince. Dare I say it worries me a little…” This revelation which passed from his lips was clearly significant.

Arjuna realized that the King of Heroes is a not a man who is willing to admit when he has fears or insecurities, a true sign of someone born perfect and royal that any moment of self-doubt is instantly dismissed or squashed like a bug.

The prince found himself grimacing at that thought, clenching a hand on his side as he hastened his steps.

If Gilgamesh even noticed anything off about Arjuna’s behavior, he gave no indication. They trudged together without another spoken word.

The lush greenery seemed to blend on in itself after an hour or so of often mindless exploration, of ceaseless pathways littered with trees and shrubbery that were the same in any direction they went. The sun above them burned through his clothing, making Arjuna perspire hard under all his layers. Such a climate belonged more to a desert than a forest. This abnormality was another evidence of what they suspected all along. Arjuna glanced at Gilgamesh who was calm enough as they locked eyes on each other. They stopped walking. The king’s silky hair was looking damp around his bangs and beads of sweat appeared on the portion of his neck not shielded by the armor. Without breaking eye contact with Arjuna, he asked, “The heat is not the only thing that is bothersome, prince. Have you noticed what else is?”

Arjuna knew what he meant so he answered readily, “We’ve been trekking a good five miles already but no sign of any animal life.”

Gilgamesh raked his fingers through his hair. His sweat glistened in an unfairly captivating way.

Is there anything about this king that is unsightly?

“Look upon the sky. There are no birds either,” Gilgamesh proclaimed. “I believe this is no wilderness at all but an artificial plane of reality.”

“You think this may all be just a well-crafted mirage?” Arjuna was considering it. He adjusted the bag that he had slung over his shoulder.

All usual sounds of nature seemed to hush down after he asked that question, and the chill on his spine tingled almost painfully, making the prince straighten his posture, as he expected an attack to come out from somewhere around them. None happened. Gilgamesh stood still across from him, the bundle of coals swinging lightly behind his back due to the weight. They were waiting for anything—an omen, a threat—just fucking _anything_ but this all-consuming humdrum eeriness that refused to reach a breaking point.

Arjuna could use a fight. He desired to sink his bare hands into something alive and writhing, to feel the tangibility of his own existence while the thing dying in his grasp loses theirs. His palm itched for the curve of his bow; the simplicity of routine to aim, shoot and destroy. Arjuna felt enormously depleted of his most prided function as a warrior, and it’s beginning to make him irritable. Scoffing under his breath, he turned away from Gilgamesh and walked ahead, uncaring whether the other man followed suit or not.

He might have been dragging his weight around with a resignation that could be taken as begrudging for Gilgamesh touched him once more on the shoulder to probably to inquire on his welfare. Arjuna this time did not acknowledge. Only when the king grabbed him forcefully and pulled him back did he turn to glare at him. “What is your problem, King of Heroes? I am perfectly fi—”

“Listen!” Gilgamesh had lifted a finger as he hissed at Arjuna to keep quiet.

For what? Arjuna wanted to snap at him but after a few more seconds of standing still and paying closer attention to the hushed sounds—the prince’s eyes widened when it struck him that he was unmistakably hearing the rhythmic sound of water gushing continuously from somewhere close to where they are. Without another moment’s haste, they both rushed to the source, almost running together side by side, stepping on twigs and fallen branches along the way. A thorn cut through Arjuna’s cheek, but he barely noticed. Gilgamesh moved fast as if he had been armorless, and still had the sense to reach out a hand to catch Arjuna from slipping as soon as they reached the small stream.

‘Small’ was relative to anything else Arjuna has encountered so far in this desolate wilderness. Small could still mean an abundance which is what this saving grace was, for this was the first time either of them saw a body of water in this place. They didn’t even say anything to each other. Both just knelt on the stones and started quenching their dehydration, hands upturned in an almost gesture of praise as they cupped the cold water and drank in big gulps. The sun had worn him down even worse than he thought because it stung to swallow as he drank, and his exposed skin felt rough and calloused by now. Arjuna risked a glance at his regal companion and was a little relieved to see that in spite of appearances, Gilgamesh was experiencing the same pangs of hunger and exhaustion as he was feeling.

The other man returned his gaze as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood up and began removing his armor. Arjuna merely watched. When it became clear that Gilgamesh intended to wash himself clean, the prince decided to do the same and averted his eyes so he can focus on undressing himself, starting with his achkan. He realized that he still had the journal concealed in his stomach area inside his angarkha, wrapped in tattered linen. He took it out and touched the pages which had dried somewhat.

Arjuna then laid down the bag on the grass and the journal on top of it, opening it in the middle of its pages so it can dry under the sun. He was already in his undergarment when he walked over to where Gilgamesh was to pick up the bundle of coal and set it aside on the grass as well. Completely bare now, the king walked further into the stream until the water reached his waist. Arjuna kept to himself on the other side and submerged himself under water to clear his mind of jumbled thoughts. Eyes shut, he listened to the insistent echo of his heartbeat in his eardrums and breathed through his nose. He didn’t come up to the surface until a full minute later.

When he did, he searched for Gilgamesh who had somehow ended up spread across a flat boulder in the middle of the stream, his arms behind the back of his head, eyes closed. Arjuna blinked and wiped the water from his face, baffled by the scene before him. _Is he sunning himself?_

“Careful, King of Heroes,” Arjuna found himself speaking without realizing it, commenting casually, “You might burn yourself under this particular sun.” As if for emphasis, Arjuna glared indirectly at the offensive celestial body in question.

“If it wasn’t for the pyre we stumbled upon yesterday, I am ready to believe those people were incinerated by this sun,” Gilgamesh shot back.

“Then why are you welcoming its torment upon your skin?”

With an exaggerated gesture at his body, Gilgamesh proclaimed haughtily, “Why else but to give you a taste of my glorious beauty!”

“You would risk sunburn that could potentially blemish your skin to make a stupid joke? Stop that, King of Heroes, you’re no comedian!” Arjuna retorted as soon as he felt his cheeks flush, but he blamed it on the oncoming heatstroke and nothing else. Annoyed beyond relief now, he started to swim the other way. The sound of the other man’s laughter diluted as the prince submerged himself under water again.

 

 

 

 

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Gilgamesh dived into the water as soon as Arjuna reached a rocky corner by the stream. He sat on atop a larger rock than the rest, much like the one the other man laid on before. The sun was still as unforgiving, but the refreshing dip he had in the water had helped enough to dull its heat. The king swam easily to Arjuna’s location, popping out of the water in a spectacle of splashes that caught him in the face. Arjuna rubbed his eyes and just looked off to a distance as Gilgamesh used his well-toned arms to lift himself onto the rock without any trouble. 

They were far apart enough to be comfortable in each other’s presence, and close enough to make conversation. Unabashed of neither for his own nakedness or the other man’s, the prince still opted to use the linen the journal was wrapped in earlier to cover his privates. Gilgamesh did not do him the same courtesy but he did not mind. Normally, Arjuna preferred, even revelled, on the idea of a companionless existence, but to do that now is to invite confusing thoughts about his current predicament here in the middle of nowhere. So, he turned slightly to acknowledge the king and remarked, “This is a good thing. A stream should lead to a bigger body of water. If we follow this stream, we might find other areas where there is a presence of animal life, if not other people. What do you think, King of Heroes?”

Gilgamesh shrugged his shoulders. “It’s reasonable. We can start walking again in a while. But first, I want to rest and enjoy this break, perhaps eat more of that bread. You mentioned there was even meat?” He turned his head to where their bearings have been gathered on the grass.

“I brought enough coal to last us weeks if we use it sparingly. I’m sure we can start a fire later that could last us in the evening—” he stopped abruptly. His expression held a new quality, one of vexation and slight anxiety. It was an intriguing look.

“What is it, sire?” Arjuna blinked the water droplets that dripped into his eyes. The formal address may have started out as a note of sarcasm at first, but now he’s learning to get used to it. “Is something the matter? Why did you suddenly pause?”

As he waited for an answer, Arjuna’s attention was caught by the journal which perched lifeless on top of the bag. Its pages didn’t even turn as it soaked up the sunshine. Finally, Gilgamesh spoke up in a tone that hinted wariness. “We must stay vigilant and keep to ourselves at night. That means we can’t light fires that could draw attention to where we are. Do you understand why we can’t?”

The prince met his measured stare and nodded at once. “If this is an artificial plane of reality as you suggested, then it could only mean that the blackness during nights is not coincidental. Something—perhaps the very same one which brutalized those people in the camp—is trying to attack us in our most vulnerable state which, in this case, is by depriving us of sight.”

“There is a horrifying implication to that theory, though, prince.”

Arjuna shifted from his position, shielding his face from the sun by lifting a hand. “Oh?”

“If the blackness is a tactic that aims to capture us at night, then that also means our enemy can control this wilderness, possibly even have a magical influence over it.” Gilgamesh leaned forward, ruby eyes heavy with intent. “It begs the question: why does it wait too long to do whatever it wants with us? Why not now, here where we sit together naked, as vulnerable as we can be, robbed of our own weapons and with nothing but fragmented memories and many unanswered questions?” Scowling openly now, he added with a trace of vehemence, “What is the fucking point of this wasteful game of hide-and-seek when we are ripe for the taking as it is?”

The rage mixed with weariness in his tone and explanation somewhat revitalized Arjuna to be the presence of reassurance and rationality. He clenched his hands into fists on his lap and replied, “Maybe we are assigning our enemy too much credit then. Perhaps it has simply taken advantage of the elements in this wilderness. Maybe it was also entrapped here and had gone mad and started attacking anyone in sight. And it could be merely observing now, or maybe it hasn’t found us yet either. This place seems endless as it is, and it could be that we have not crossed paths with this creature yet. Take heart, sire! There are a dozen more optimistic possibilities than what you have concluded so grimly.”

The expression on the king’s face relaxed somewhat but he stared intensely into Arjuna’s eyes and said, “Let us make a pact.”

Quirking up an eyebrow, the prince asked. “Pray tell, what kind of pact?”

“It seems to me that we might be stuck in this place for awhile, so we might as well adjust our inclinations so that we can avoid conflicts between ourselves,” Gilgamesh raked his fingers through his golden locks again. The shimmer in them only served to remind Arjuna how hot the sun continued to beat down on them so he reached an arm down so he can splash himself with the cool water. “And so the pact I propose would be simple enough.” There was a sly smile spreading on his face that Arjuna was intrigued by.

“I shall like to hear it, and decide if it is acceptable.”

“We shall remain supportive of one another, assist one another, in every activity that requires much physical endurance—even the mental kind,” Gilgamesh emphasized the last one clearly, calling to attention his attitude moments ago, “As we both know, we’re getting uncomfortable and increasingly moody as the days stretch on. It would be advisable that we curtail this, maybe even compartmentalize them. In that sense,” he picked up a small rock and looked at it, “When one of us suffers such bouts of…”

“Moods,” Arjuna filled in, nodding in sympathy. He was relieved the other man has been suffering the same afflictions as he has after all.

“…then the other must seek a way to appease,” Gilgamesh threw the rock effortlessly into the water. It rippled and sank. “We must take turns in this role and we should never, ever get cross with one another. I’m sure we’ll figure out how to conduct ourselves better in response to each other. It’s simplicity foremost that we must strive for. Anything that could complicate this alliance will diminish its usefulness to us.”

“Agreed, King of Heroes,” Arjuna smoothed down the linen on his lap while Gilgamesh crossed his legs. “If ever one of us loses our footing, whatever the reason, the other must step in and help out.” He paused to meet Gilgamesh’s eyes again. “We don’t know each other at all. We don’t even know what we are doing here. But in the last two days we have accompanied each other, I can say I am willing to work with you. There is another rule in our pact that I must insist on, however, to establish more of this status quo between us.”

“Speak it,” the king narrowed his eyes, leaning in slightly.

“Honesty,” Arjuna indicated this single word with as much emphasis as he could by tilting his chin up and staring directly at Gilgamesh’s red eyes. “I ask full disclosure from you especially when regarding our memories. We can probably piece together things from there. Perhaps there is something in those memories that could give us clues on how and why we were brought here. That means that regardless of how… _personal_ the memory may seem, there is still a need to discuss its relevance in our current situation. Is this acceptable to you?

The King of Heroes chuckled as his arm slid just a few inches closer to Arjuna’s. Neither of them made a move after that. 

“I can concur with that, Prince Arjuna of the Pandava,” With one, smooth motion, the king extended his hand towards him.

And Arjuna took it, tightening his own hand around Gilgamesh’s.

With eyes locked decisively on one another, nothing in the other man’s expression gave away anything except for his touch. A single finger curled and pressed into Arjuna’s palm while their slightly soaked hands remained clasped. It was subtle but present, almost making the prince flinch from the contact, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned closer and remarked, “Your pasty complexion will truly burn if you don’t dry up and put on your armor soon, sire. I can see hints of red blotches on your cheeks, as red as the markings on the rest of your body…”

To this, Arjuna allowed his eyes travel downward, inspecting the markings in question. He was pleased to see Gilgamesh’s abdominal muscles go taut visibly after receiving attention. The prince lifted his gaze immediately before it traveled further, not wanting to seem lewd. He afforded himself a smirk—an inviting suggestion that could get crude— which is probably layered with a playful malice he had tried all his life to overcome. There is something about this entire arrangement with Gilgamesh that is bringing out his polluted colors. It’s sickening.

But then Gilgamesh laughed. He unclasped their hands and then stood up, facing Arjuna fully in his naked form. The prince never let his eyes waver anywhere but the other man’s face. He was smiling wider now. The corners of his mouth felt malleable to a degree of coquettishness, lending his expression a look of flirtation which he didn’t mind displaying. If Gilgamesh wished to play such a ridiculous game, perhaps he’d indulge every now and then, just to relieve the stress of their travels. Beside, it wasn’t as if Arjuna was serious about it.

The king may be beautiful to look at, but like jellyfish he is poisonous.

Arjuna stood up now too, allowing the linen to flutter down between them. They kept their eyes on each other, not speaking.

“So,” Gilgamesh muttered quietly, red eyes shining in this angle.

“We must dress,” Arjuna replied calmly. “And eat.”

“Indeed,” Gilgamesh turned away first and started walking down the rock to cross into the grass. He walked over to his armor and clothing while Arjuna picked up the journal instead while the other held the linen over his privates. The sun was still set on victimizing them with its sharp heat, but the prince couldn’t care anymore. He placed the journal down then and hurriedly pulled up his undergarment and pants. As soon as he was decent enough, he untied the bundle of coals and took a piece of charcoal. He rubbed the tip against his thumb, blew into it, and then picked up the journal again. He chose a page and slowly began drawing shapes and lines that only made sense to him.

Gilgamesh came over now, upper torso exposed once more, as he glanced at what Arjuna was busying himself with.

“Are you, perhaps, mapping what we have covered in our walks?” the king leaned closer and inspected his sketching with interest.

“Exactly that, Gilgamesh…” Arjuna was so preoccupied with the endeavor that he said the name of the other man just like that.

“That’s not where that was,” the king took no notice of the familiar address, and instead pointed at a shape where Arjuna marked a location. “It’s supposed to be here…” he instructed with a caress of his finger on an empty space in the page. “I remember it clearly. But yes, this looks good. You’re impressively laying down the right landmarks. Keep going…”

They had then ended up sitting together on the grass, improving on the rushed cartography of what they came up with together so far about the wilderness and the areas they had explored since yesterday. The approximation can be fixed once they start trekking again later. For now, they were content to admire the finished product of Arjuna’s sketches. Gilgamesh smiled genuinely for the first time; not the usual flavor of condescension and vague insult, but one of sincerity. It was a smile Arjuna could not believe a man such as he is even capable of.

Encouraged by this helpful development, Arjuna allowed himself to bask on their small yet fruitful accomplishment. He reached for the bag beside them and took out what was left of the loaf of bread they shared last night. He broke them into halves as equally as he could manage, and handed Gilgamesh his part. Looking at each other briefly, they both raised it up slightly as if they were toasting a goblet filled with wine.

The gesture, however, was a promising one in spirit, as an unspoken agreement of further cooperation was sealed from then on.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! I posted a second installment! I'm still enjoying writing this story because Gil and Arjuna together is absolutely enthralling to explore! I hope anyone who is reading this also feels the same way. I would really appreciate any comment along my way as I write this :) It would prove helpful to know what you guys think!


	3. The Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arjuna and Gilgamesh stumble upon soft places.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

They began to follow the water to its source just as discussed. Arjuna had the journal open the entire time as they walked, alternating between clutching it to his chest or pressing the spine on one palm as he sketched in charcoal with the other, eager to work on plotting out their course as it happens. They would pause every so often so they can mark certain trees with a symbol of Gilgamesh’s choosing.

Etching these clues would allow them to find a way back to the stream again just in case. The symbol itself was no doubt Akkadian—an old language from the civilization the king hails from—but Arjuna never got to ask if it was a specific word he had carved onto the barks or just a random selection. It seemed almost invasive to do so. The King of Heroes had used one of the small blades the prince acquired, a peculiar dagger crafted with an ivory stone handle. He held the blade as if it was a paintbrush while the emblem he left on the wood a bold stroke with possible deeper meanings.  What could it be? A message? An incantation? A promise?

But Arjuna knew that there are questions whose lack of answers can ruin someone, so he focused his willpower on his cartography instead.

His sketching of the visited places of the wilderness seemed to be improving exponentially the more he paid closer attention to the details in the surroundings, and conversed about his findings with Gilgamesh. The King of Heroes actually seemed to be an impressive tracker by himself, more confident about the directions and pathways he’d selected for them. Since the fresh water replenished their bodies earlier, and after they had agreed on the terms of their pact, both men seemed to have regained their strength and composure, which was the good news.

The bad news was that the dark might catch up to them in an hour or less, given how low the previously oppressive sun was hanging over the horizon. Arjuna could not ignore it. The dread of what could transpire in the blackness of the night was so visceral that his fingers began to lose their steadiness and he was forced to stop sketching. Gilgamesh never commented upon it, but he did look into his eyes with an expression of real concern. Arjuna shook his head in response to indicate that the king had nothing to worry about.

Though they agreed to support each other in case one of them experiences a mental strain, the prince was determined not to be the first one to break apart. Another moment of silent understanding passed between the two men before they began trekking with more haste in their steps.

They had followed the stream for five miles now, and yet there was hardly a sign that it goes back to a bigger source. It simply remained as a perfect strip of narrowness, grayish blue in texture against the thinning skylight.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

It wasn’t the tar-black quality of the night that made Arjuna feel on the edge. It was the quiet.

Gilgamesh was across him. Their feet were pressed against each other. They agreed to sit like this so they don’t limit their access to only one side. He took the east while the other man took the west. Arjuna sat with his back straightened into a perfect posture, his mind alert for anything suspicious to occur. The king’s breathing across him was a form of comfort to Arjuna; he focused on that and measured his heartbeat against its rhythm. As long as they stay on their guard, this darkness will not take root into their consciousness like a parasitic worm.

About thirty minutes before the black occurred, a rabbit skipped into their line of sight. Gilgamesh attacked it in an instant, stabbing through it using the same dagger he had used to carve his Akkadian emblems. Arjuna didn’t even get to compliment him on his quick capture because Gilgamesh was already skinning the rabbit with a systematic pace that showed skill and precision. Arjuna couldn’t deny he was mesmerized; he had misjudged the king after all. Under the glamor of his wealthy appearance was someone who has an expertise in hunting and tracking.

Gilgamesh only looked up from what he was doing to instruct Arjuna to help him separate the meat and bones. The prince will take care in preserving the meat to eat at a later time whilst Gilgamesh busied himself with cleaning the rabbit’s coat of fur. To his credit, Arjuna didn’t ask questions; he didn’t want to waste time all things considered, and decided to trust that the other man knew what he was doing.

The King of Heroes began taking apart his armor next, with a strength Arjuna had to admit was rather worrying if not impressive to witness. His armor was gold-plated after all, and yet the king was able to divide them into pieces. With a hurried speech yet a calm tone, he started instructing which piece of his armor will be used for what function. One of them was to store the meat from the rabbit and the ones Arjuna acquired from his loot while the other was to be used as water storage. Another was for the bones and fur which Gilgamesh had cleaned for some future use. Arjuna decided he could ask for explanations later as part of their conversation once the night swallows them up.

But not until they divided which items they would carry. Both men took their share of blades that Arjuna took from the camp. Gilgamesh was already fond of the dagger with the ivory stone handle. He also took three more blades and left Arjuna with the other seven. He gave Arjuna the coal which they now transferred inside the bag made of animal hide. The linen which Gilgamesh originally used to carry the coal was washed and then put aside for another future use. Finally, they chose a space concealed between two large boulders to retire into.

The sun descended, and night spread instantaneously across the wilderness it took only a blink of an eye. Now everything was black.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

“I can’t sleep.” Arjuna mutters with finality. He flicks two fingers against the surface of the blade that rests on his lap as if plucking an invisible chord in a lyre. He repeats this action thoughtlessly. The tips of his nails don’t make a single sound as they collide on the steel yet he feels their thrumming loud and clear in his head. Perhaps any sound is muffled distinctly by the blackness around them—all except their voices. 

“Can’t or won’t?” Gilgamesh asks, his tone neutral, bland. Arjuna is too tired to pretend he’s even annoyed.

“Want to but should not,” he manages to respond, lacking the energy to say anything more substantial than that.

“Dreams?” the king inquires as he puts some pressure on their feet braced against each other, a pitiful symbolic gesture of solidarity.

“Memories,” Arjuna corrects quickly, “Shards of glass from a broken mirror. Can’t make sense of any of them, or put them back together.”

“Shards, huh?” Gilgamesh shifts, the movement discernible only because Arjuna focuses all his attention on the other man and nowhere else.

“Sharp and jagged and don’t always fit with one another.”

A chuckle, a one-note melody of amusement. “How shitty for you and me.”

“Do you have all the pieces to yours?” Arjuna presses a thumb on the steel now, rubs the surface with an absentminded tenderness.

“No,” Gilgamesh shifts again. “Can cut just as deep as yours. Won’t bother.”

“Maybe help,” he offers with only little reservation, “Sleep won’t come. Dangerous anyway. Let’s talk.”

“Save our voices,” Gilgamesh argues weakly. “Can hardly form words. Blackness. Probably it’s fault. Mouth feels weird.”

“I know,” Arjuna reaches out halfway to touch the king but remembers he is located on the other side, so he stops himself. “Speaking hurts.”

“Speaking is limited,” the king counters. “Words slip. Meaning is…”

“You think it’s the night doing this?” Arjuna tries to form a sentence more coherently but his mind and mouth won’t cooperate at all.

“Certainly,” Gilgamesh confirms. “Can’t talk to you. Want to. But words…they’re scattered.”

“Sorcery,” Arjuna grits his teeth. He feels flushed with indignation and rage over this new impediment blocking their communication.

“Calm, prince.” The other man shifts for the third time. Their feet shuffle against each other for purchase. “No use putting up fight. Must sleep.”

“No,” Arjuna is still angry. His eyes would not close and the darkness is absolute—taunting them. “First night was not like this.”

“Wasn’t as dark as either,” the king sounds drowsy, probably near his limit.

“How do you compare?” Arjuna kicks him, intent on keeping him awake. “Black is black. Shitty as shit. Ah…words are not mine. Escape my head.”

“Sleep then,” Gilgamesh offers again. “Lose this battle. We can’t even talk well. The morrow is coming.”

“Gilgamesh—” Arjuna tries to say something else to convince the other man to converse some more, but the prince is exhausted. His head droops lower until his chin is touching his chest. He feels numbness in his extremities, and then warmth spreading through his fingers and toes. There is a rumble at the back of his throat, and a high-pitched ringing in his ears, dismantling him, weakening all his fortified walls.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

A tapestry of human skin knitted from different bodies. It is ugly and none of the colors match. Leafless branches made bare and whittled down. Teeth scattered across a rain-soaked ground, gleaming like pearls. Red streaks in dirty water like spilled ink. Cicadas wailed as they burn together in sun-kissed solitude; the fragrance of their death appetizing, filling his stomach. Cacophonies blend as one symphony, reverberating against the safe cocoon of sleep and contemplation. _Who am I? What am I? Where have I gone? Who are you?_

Charcoal stains on fingertips, corroding under the nails. A multitude of lines blooming across the beige pages, ghost trails and dark patches he could not comprehend. On the centrepiece is a battleground of tinker metal toys playing at soldiers, stabbing one another with plastic swords. They close in on him so he brandishes his own blade. It has an orange glow as if its blacksmith forgot to temper it with a hammer, or Arjuna may have just stolen it as it is. He swings it across to cut through the haze of faceless would-be murderers. Blindly, he hacks through the masses of tinker soldiers. _Clank, clank, clank._ The sound of their falling is a restless metallic tune. _Clink, clink, clink._

Arjuna savors its absurdity and chases the thrill of his private massacre until he reaches something precious he almost gets giddy as soon as his blade makes contact with it. He swings blindly. A head flies off. The neck that was left from the tinker toy gushes out a stream of bountiful red streaks. They color the rainwater and soak the Arjuna’s pristine whiteness. He stabs the sword into the ground and clasps his hands together to say grace. And then Arjuna bends down and tongues the neck wound, its edges cauterized by his burning blade.

He tongues the wound as if it’s a woman’s core and only stops when he feels the need to breathe. Arjuna pulls away from the headless tinker toy and laughs. He looks to the side and notices someone else—someone alive and on his knees. Arjuna approaches with a confident gait, drunk and high from the debauchery he can still taste in his mouth. He observes this other man as he shakily scatters petals across what Arjuna assumes is a corpse. It is wrapped in silk. There are beads and jewels around its covered visage. The other man is still showering petals, unaware of Arjuna standing just a yard away. _These petals and jewels and beads are wasted on the dead_ , he wants to say but doesn’t.

The other man caresses the corpse with steadier hands now as if gentle touches will restore what was lost and gone. Arjuna laughs at him.

One by one the petals and beads and jewels suddenly come alive, turning into an army of maggots. They spread out like a white plague and start to devour the corpse. The other man raises his hands up as if calling out for mercy to any god who will listen and take pity, but his outcry is silent. Arjuna walks closer and kneels. He reaches for the maggots and tries to dig out the corpse’s heart. He doesn’t know why, but he thinks he can preserve it and present it to the other man whose broken state has somewhat struck a soft place in Arjuna.

But he couldn’t salvage the heart and the corpse just breaks apart and turns to dust, the maggots along with it. Arjuna holds his breath.

The other man keeps his head bowed down, his gold-spun hair losing its shine. Arjuna offers his filthy, blood-stained hand.

Their gazes meet. Embers still glow in the other man’s eyes. Arjuna wishes they won’t ever extinguish, at least not yet. So they stay like that in the quiet of gloom where neither tries to close the final distance nor retreat away. And then—Arjuna smiles.

The other man, who is less divine now than what he was supposed to be, eventually returns it and clasps Arjuna’s hand.

They stand together, and the blackness falls away.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...what do you guys think? Where the bloody hell are they? And what was that last scene about?
> 
> Oh, I also want to mention that METRIC's _**Speed the Collapse**_ is one of the songs I listen to for this story. It captures the mood and atmosphere I am trying to build across the chapters, so I do recommend you listen to it when you find the time  <3


	4. The Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arjuna walks on eggshells around his companion as Gilgamesh feels a little more vulnerable than expected.

* * *

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

He remembers enough of the massacre’s details to lay them out on paper.

If there is anything better to do, Arjuna would be doing it already, but instead he’s been sitting against the boulder for a good half an hour now, sketching the killing spree back at the camp as if he wasn’t just a mere witness who stumbled upon its crime scene a few days ago. He may not have an intimate knowledge of the method, but Arjuna had his fair share of executions and a rather dark imagination to help him approximate. Perhaps that incident at the camp had a greater meaning than just a random butchery. Besides, there is something about drawing these murders that was somewhat therapeutic, possibly even alleviating the stressful discoveries of last night’s cruel enchantments.

There is no doubt about it now. The wilderness is an enemy that is doing everything it can to bludgeon Arjuna into submission. The dreams have been the blunt instruments used to accomplish that, but the prince had held his own against them, and his almost cavalier manner right now should testify to his resilience. However, the same cannot be said about the King of Heroes.

Thinking about the other man made Arjuna stopped sketching for a moment. He places the journal down and crawls a little to the narrow space where the two boulders don’t touch, and it served as an entrance to their abode, a piece of solace from the unforgiving sun. His companion is still out there, facing dangers alone, and Arjuna of the Pandava is no coward, so why does he remain concealed here?

About an hour ago, Gilgamesh informed him that he would leave for a while to hunt for food. Arjuna would have stopped him, even caution him about staying together, but could not even look him in the eye or say his damn piece—not after the shared dream which woke them up with a sudden urge to run away as far as their legs would take them… _especially_ away from each other. So the prince is relieved that Gilgamesh is the one who decided to put an amount of distance between them, but is also a little ashamed he didn’t volunteer to leave first.

Arjuna is worried. He has no doubts  that Gilgamesh can find his way back here in the boulders—being an excellent tracker—but the question that he is starting to agonize now is: _Would he even come back here if given a choice to continue this quest by himself?_

“Fuck this,” the prince mutters under his breath, crumpling blades of grass around his fisted hand. _Could he actually just abandon me?_

Whatever mitigating circumstances both awkward and even somewhat painful, they should have at least tried to talk about it earlier. There is an agreed pact that holds them together after all, and Arjuna owes Gilgamesh the same courtesy he wants to be extended to him as well.

But how? How do they talk about what they saw in each other’s subconscious? He just learned that Gilgamesh had loved someone who was ripped away from him; Arjuna has peculiarly sensed the depth of his devotion for whoever that maggot-infested corpse was supposed to be.

And what of Arjuna? Did Gilgamesh also see how he desecrated that decapitated body in the dream? Arjuna is sure that such an awful thing never truly happened and that it is in some level probably symbolic only, yet the implication that the prince may have some hidden bloodlust would have been alarming to Gilgamesh. As if in guilt and shame, Arjuna glances at the open journal filled with his illustrations of brutalities. He flipped it closed, almost in a panic. It’s best to not confirm such suspicions.

The prince is only _half-sure_ he is not psychotic and deranged after all.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

Gilgamesh does come back, but he talks to Arjuna now as if he isn’t fully acknowledging the prince as a person. 

It’s probably easier that way, so Arjuna takes no offense. The King of Heroes looks almost haunted; there are dark circles under his eyes which only become noticeable because the rest of him is unblemished. He even manages to make perspiration look attractive. Arjuna frowns disapprovingly as soon as that line of thought crosses his mind again because it is terribly inappropriate. To diffuse the awkwardness, he nods at what the other man brought to their small abode, inquiring, “Where did you get those?”

There is a long stick laid flat across the other man’s shoulders. Four dead rabbits, two on each side, hang from it. Gilgamesh also carries with him one of the few parts of his upper armor which he had broken apart yesterday so they can be reused as tools. Arjuna looks inside it to inspect the contents it holds. His eyes widen slightly, “Are those fruits?”

Their shade was peculiar. They looked like grapes but they were yellow and… _glowing_.

Arjuna meets Gilgamesh’s eyes as he winces away from the fruits. “W-Where did those come from?”

The other man shrugs. “After I finished with the rabbits, I decided to sample other means for sustenance. And I discovered these.”

“They might be poisoned though…” Arjuna’s gaze flickers back and forth between Gilgamesh and said fruits.

The King of Heroes almost rolled his eyes at Arjuna as he reaches in and takes one round piece before he pops it into his mouth. The prince just stares as a fair amount of panic kicks in. But then Gilgamesh shrugs his shoulders and remarks casually, “They taste rather citrus-y actually.” He paused, and then added, “I believe we can use these fruits as detergent for our clothing. They have a nice scent, and I want to try and see if they can be used for cleaning. So with that in mind, I need you to take off your clothes. I’m going to wash them by the stream outside.”

Stupidly—almost in horror—Arjuna asks, “Did you just offer to do laundry for both of us?” _Did last night finally break you?_

“Yes,” Gilgamesh remains unfazed as he reaches out with both hands to undress Arjuna. By instinct, the prince slaps them away and glares.

But the King of Heroes is still as neutral as ever. “You can make use of my cloak as your temporary clothing, the one that the coals were carried in before. It should be dry by now.” Another pause. “Now strip, Arjuna.”

“I most certainly would not!” the prince grits his teeth. “And shouldn’t we eat first? You must be famished as well! Why don’t we do that first?”

Gilgamesh complies. “I can collect twigs while you can start the fire here.” A pause. “You do know how to make fire, don’t you?”

Arjuna just glares at him as he picks up a pair of stones he had spent minutes polishing earlier after putting aside the drawings.

“Good,” Gilgamesh mutters and hurries out, leaving Arjuna to watch him walk away while the concern begins to grow and gnaw at the prince.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

Yet another part of Gilgamesh’s golden armor was sacrificed for the most important function today. It would serve as a furnace, considering gold doesn’t burn anyway. Arjuna makes use of a few pages from the journal and crumples them into balls before he places them on the armor piece. Surprisingly, the journal has a hefty bulk to it that using the pages as kindling wouldn’t immediately thin it out. Meanwhile, Gilgamesh was measuring firewood, making sure they have varied breadth. He lay them in a criss-cross pattern above the crumpled papers.

Next, they lay out the coals. They opt to use four of the bigger ones since they only need the fire to cook. Arjuna tries to broach the subject of keeping the hearth alive until the blackness descends later, but the blank look Gilgamesh returns is so non-committal that Arjuna decides not to bother going forward with that plan. He’d rather have the king oppose him on such matters, but Gilgamesh is almost too lethargic or sparse with his communication that Arjuna is beginning to feel sick with concern. Personally, he couldn’t care less about whatever dark secret the other man holds close to his heart (such as the appearance of whatever loved one he continues to grieve), but if his behavior starts compromising their quest, Arjuna is going to have words with the stubborn king. He needs an ally who is as focused as he is about the mission at hand.

And the King of Heroes hasn’t been the same since last night.

“It will take a while for the coals to burn fully,” Gilgamesh remarks right after Arjuna successfully ignites a spark from the two stones which he roughly stroked together. It only took him one try. He then carries the stick of wood where he ignited the fire in, and scatters the fire across the crumpled papers below, taking his time lighting each side until he goes for the firewood next.

The other man, on the other hand, is undressing quietly. He had been wearing a dark blue tunic which had long sleeves under his armor. The lower half of his armor clanks noisily as he takes it off one piece at a time. He wore tights of the same blue color which is snug enough to accentuate the firmness of his leg muscles underneath. Arjuna watches him openly, but Gilgamesh ignores him the entire time as he picks up the red half-cloak that used to decorate his armor, which he then had used as a bundle to carry the coals from the pyre back at the camp. Its width can cover a body from head to foot if stretched right. He now tosses this to Arjuna without another word.

Ah, so he still wants to Arjuna to get out of his own clothing. And to do what again? Wash their fucking laundry? What nuisance. But how comedic would it be to watch Gilgamesh scrub clothes like some common wench? Concealing a smirk, Arjuna begins to remove his achkan and angarkha, compelled by the ridiculous image of the proud Mesopotamian king rinsing his items of clothing by the stream.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

It seems to Arjuna that Gilgamesh is busying himself with tedious tasks to probably escape any dialogue between them which would pertain to the shared dream. It might as well, the prince thinks, as he uses a portion of the crushed yellow fruit and applies it across his skin. The citrus scent is pleasant after all and lingers on his pores, making him feel clean instantly.

He watches Gilgamesh who has just finished scrubbing their clothes and is twisting them around to drain out the water. He is naked and uncaring about it, and so is Arjuna. As impressively beautiful as the other man is, the presence of his naked body which he has flaunted carelessly yesterday, no longer fazes Arjuna, nor has it ever really done so. Arjuna grew up with brothers, and they are all as handsome and well-built as he, so bathing next to Gilgamesh is nothing particularly special. Arjuna may have entertained the notion of sexual desire between himself and the King of Heroes, but it is fleeting and minuscule compared to the more pressing matters at hand—

He narrows his eyes and focuses on that train of thought again.

_Brothers? Yes, I remember I have brothers. I remember…_

The prince squeezes his eyes shut and tries to recall any more specific details. But he couldn’t. Once he opens his eyes again, he sees Gilgamesh walking back to the boulders. He wonders, with much agonizing intent, if the other man even recognized the memory that their shared dream has revealed. That loved one whose corpse he had showered with petals—did he even know instantly who it was? Or did it boggle him because he can’t be sure of their identity—confuse him so deeply—as the sudden epiphany of Arjuna recalling his brotherly ties just moments ago had made him feel so helpless? Is that why he left so soon upon waking, making an excuse to hunt? Why he can’t even lock eyes with Arjuna?

“King of Heroes!” Arjuna finds himself calling out as he rushes out of the stream, grabbing hold of the red cloak folded neatly on the grass. He hurriedly covers himself up with it, feels the warmth of its silken embrace engulf his shaking limbs. “I need to ask—we need to talk about what happened, Gilgamesh!” He stops as soon as the other man turns slowly. His expression is still a bland mask. There is an undercurrent of warning in those red eyes though, but Arjuna is not discouraged and presses on by saying, “We made a pact. I wish to honor it.”

To his relief, Gilgamesh merely responds, “Then come inside and dry yourself. We can discuss while we eat. The meat should be ready after a few more minutes.” He tries to sound unaffected but Arjuna could see his expression finally slackens into something that resembles _relief_. So he does want conversation after all. Arjuna should learn to read the other man’s cues more accurately next time.

 _Such a proud man,_ he thinks to himself, _and yet…am I not as well?_

The king carries their load of wet laundry inside yet another armor piece while he hold a long stick with the other hand. Using the distance between the boulders, he pitches the stick at the center and starts to hang their clothes there to dry. Arjuna busies himself by attending to the two pieces of rabbit meat by the furnace, rolling them around to make sure they evenly cook on all sides.

Afterwards, Arjuna takes one of the blades and slashes the red cloak into equal halves. He tosses one to Gilgamesh who only nods his thanks.

They take their respective places that resemble the position from last night. Arjuna took the east post while Gilgamesh took the west. The furnace is located between them, seemingly alive as its bluish flames flicker and crackle. The light from it spilled and scattered both men’s shadows against the stones. Neither of them said anything first as they eat their respective portions of food, but Arjuna is ready to open the discussion as soon as their hunger has been alleviated enough. The king is eating rather mildly, chewing as if the very act is too tedious to do.

“Did you hurt yourself while you hunted, sire?” Arjuna inquires, unable to prevent the formal address from slipping past. He isn’t trying to be sarcastic at all. He only clears his throat before he shoves another piece of meat into his mouth.

Gilgamesh doesn’t seem to care as he answers, “It’s probably just exhaustion. I did just kill four rabbits, and to do that, I had to chase them down. And then I walked around until I found those fruits.” He pauses momentarily to meet Arjuna’s gaze steadily for the first time since this day began. “Listen, prince. I’d like to suggest that as soon as we finish our meal that we get a few hours of sleep. It might help us tonight if we are well-rested. Then we can roam around and explore the woods by gathering fire from this furnace to take with us.”

Arjuna blinks. It is one thing to keep the fire alive as the blackness descends, but it’s another thing entirely to attempt exploration.

“You’d like to risk us out in the open space?” his tone is already disagreeable.

“Better than staying put as sitting ducks,” Gilgamesh counters. He says the phrase with no hint of anger at all. There’s _hopelessness_ in his voice.

“Don’t be a fool!” Arjuna grits his teeth and sets down his unfinished meal. “Gilgamesh, you can’t honestly think that leaping into trouble without fully knowing what you’re going to face is the best option. To do that in our most vulnerable state—given the kind of control the blackness has—is just pushing it too far! Heed my counsel and let us forget this nonsense proposal of yours!” He clenches both fists on his lap.

“It shan't remain faceless forever, prince,” Gilgamesh replies, his tone still too meek to Arjuna’s liking. “Whatever is out there will find us again.”

“Let it come to us!” Arjuna feels the rage hardening his resolve. “I cannot believe I am hearing this from someone of your status, _King of Heroes_!” He pauses, treading carefully with his next words. “Is it because of the shameful secret the blackness has exposed when it snagged your dream and showed it to me? Is that why you’re so intent on suicide? Because you can’t take the fact that I know now?”

“And what do you know?” This time, Gilgamesh finally looks at Arjuna with the expression of a man who is not fucking around anymore.

Good, because Arjuna is done fucking around as well. “I knew you loved the dead so much that you were willing to lose yourself into ensuring you will never know such love again because to move on is to diminish their death, or at least that’s what you think. And you were lost, weren’t you? You were lost for so long it’s almost a miracle you even found a way back.” The words roll effortlessly from his tongue before Arjuna could even understand the weight of them. How does he know this? And why can he feel the pointed edge of his own words burrowing deep?

“And what of you, Arjuna of the Pandava?” Gilgamesh is absolutely still as he responds, “If I’m the one who doesn’t know the full contents of my memories, and only wishes to explore them hence my choosing to go forth into the black tonight—then you are the one who fears that to discover your own memories is to awaken a dormant part of you that you’ve always loathed and even feared. Tell me, prince…”

He leans forward, eyes penetrative and almost hypnotic, as he asks Arjuna, “…whose blood did you spill that day? And why—as soon as you wriggled your tongue to taste around the gaping hole you made upon his neck—did the blood taste familiar to you, almost as if it’s someone you must have known all along was your own kin!” Gilgamesh raises his voice by the end of that question as he lunges for the prince.

Arjuna kicks the furnace towards the king just in time before Gilgamesh could stab him with the dagger that suddenly appears in his hand.

The other man doesn’t react to it and has now closed in, slashing at the air while Arjuna reflexively avoids the blows of his attack. They are both fast and clever in their techniques but only one of them has a weapon. But Arjuna knows he has more expertise in hand-to-hand combat, so as soon as he finds an opening, he grapples the dagger out of Gilgamesh’s hand and lands a solid hook against the king’s jaw.

With haste, they step away from one another, extending the gap between them until they are both backed into corners. Arjuna now grips the dagger in his own hand as the blade sinks into the folds of his palm. Gilgamesh grips the top of his head while the other holds the broken jaw in place. Without another second wasted, he then sets it right with a violent snap of bones. He coughs once, glaring at Arjuna. The prince scoffs and wipes the blood from the shallow wound Gilgamesh had inflicted on his temple.

They stay like that, taut and alert. Neither of them stopped staring as they wait for the next attack to occur. It didn’t.

Instead, Gilgamesh speaks first: “I am not your enemy.”

Arjuna wants to throw the dagger into the other man’s face but regains his composure quickly and repeats, “I am not your enemy.”

Gilgamesh relaxes his stance. The prince waits a whole minute to make sure the truce is real before he drops the dagger to the ground.

“To be fair,” Gilgamesh adds as he picks up his half of the red cloak which has fallen from his waist during their fight. He wraps it around himself, smirking at Arjuna “…I think you probably didn’t even know it was your brother until you cut off his head.”

“Can you even remember who it was?” Arjuna circles around to pick up the furnace which is still burning. He uses the spare sticks of wood lying around to put it back in its place. “Who was it anyway, your dearly departed?” He picks up his half of the cloak and airs it out first before putting it on. “I felt your anguish that night in the dream. I…felt it swallow you whole as much as those maggots did to your beloved.”

“No,” the King of Heroes answers truthfully. The sorrow in his eyes is faint but it was there just the same. He stares into his palms as if they’re mirrors which can reveal him the truth. “I don’t know who it was, but I feel as if I should.” He closes his eyes. “I feel as if I must remember.”

Arjuna nods, keenly understanding the desire because it is also his own. “But let’s agree on one thing, King of Heroes,” he stresses, “we are not going out to jump into the black, as you so creatively put it. We will stay right here. We will make ourselves ready for whatever comes—whatever tragic memory this blackness wants to show us in our shared consciousness.”

“How do we do that?” Gilgamesh searches his eyes. “How can you be so sure that the blackness wouldn’t just consume us in our sleep?”

The prince regards the other man gently. “It won’t dare, because I am Arjuna of the Pandava. And you are Gilgamesh of Uruk.”

The King of Heroes says nothing for a while. And then he laughs. “Oh, that’s right…”

He walks over to Arjuna now and pats his shoulder in a cordial manner that shocks the prince. Gilgamesh only grins. “We’re _the_ heroes.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, once again, are greatly appreciated. As you can see, neither of them can recall who Enkidu and Karna were and what they represent, but they know it's essential they remember them. Real developments are about to occur, both with the progression of the plot and the slashy, shippy factor of this pairing. I myself can't wait.


	5. The Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arjuna and Gilgamesh reached an understanding that is probably more frightening than not having one at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take note this chapter begins where Chapter 1 ended last time. It means the timeline for this one is set exactly seven days later when Arjuna and Gilgamesh found a cave to stay in, and then they agree to stop traveling for a while so Arjuna can get some rest because he's been feeling a little under the weather. You can re-read Chapter 1 in case you all forgot already.

 

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~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

**The Seventh Day**

 

 

Arjuna remembers that the air was musty inside the cave when he went to sleep, but as he stirs slowly back to consciousness, the first scent that welcomes him is the citrus fragrance of the yellow grapes Gilgamesh has found days ago. Did this mean he had gone back to the spot where he found them in the first place just so he can bring them back here to perfume their new abode?

It’s a rather _thoughtful_ gesture, the prince supposes, as he finally opens his eyes and immediately searches for the fruits. He doesn’t have to look far; they were gathered inside one of the armor pieces and perched above his head as if some sort of offering.

As soon as he sits up, a few twigs and branches snap under him, surprising him. Did Gilgamesh also move him to his makeshift bed? No, the king has actually made Arjuna his own and found some way to place him there. He frowns at the too many thoughtful gestures the King of Heroes had bothered doing. What is this? Why does he have to be nice all of a sudden?

No matter. There is no reason to be making a fuss about it. It’s not as if it’s that unusual or far-fetched. Gilgamesh has just been easier to get along with lately, that’s all. After everything they have endured, there’s bound to be camaraderie of some sort that had evolved without either of them realizing it…right? All that Arjuna knows now is that they haven’t fought since that incident back at the two boulders when Gilgamesh tried to stab him and Arjuna broke his jaw. It almost seems like a lifetime ago that they were steeped in mistrust and discomfort around each other.

But now—now Arjuna is here by himself inside the cave, resting on a bed Gilgamesh has lavished for him while said other man is out there hunting so they can have something decent to eat again. Gilgamesh had done that before so why is—why is Arjuna smiling right now?

Arjuna reaches out for the armor piece where the yellow fruits are gathered. It looks as if Gilgamesh has also taken the time to crush them so that their fragrance will truly come out and spread across the cave. Did he do this for Arjuna, so that when he wakes up, he’ll find himself in much better spirits? Aromatherapy is a real thing after all. _Whatever_. Gilgamesh probably isn’t aware of what he’s doing anyway.

For whatever godforsaken reason, Arjuna suddenly recalls the image of Gilgamesh scrubbing and washing their clothing by the stream that one time, as if he’s some peasant’s wife and not a royal king. The prince chuckles about it almost too giddily. _Gilgamesh is rather cute when subservient_ —Arjuna’s eyes widen upon thinking that, and then he stops laughing altogether. _What the fu—_

 _Enough_ , Arjuna commands his mind sternly. Contemplating about such things is very stupid and unproductive. Besides—why is Arjuna even feeling— _flustered_ ? That could only mean that he has a fever after all. Yes, yes. That’s all it is—a fever. _Probably_?

While still abed the pile of twigs, he looks across the opening of the cave to discern what time of the day it is. Judging by the sun’s location in the sky, it’s probably mid-afternoon. Gilgamesh should be back soon. He doesn’t want to remain confined like this but Arjuna knows he can’t force his recovery. As much as the sleep was able to clear his mind, his body still feels weaker than it has ever been. But perhaps he can draw? Arjuna’s newfound hobby has always been his only solace since getting stranded in this place. He starts looking for the journal now.

 _It’s not here!_ Arjuna rummages through his bag and then inspects the corners of the cave that aren’t cloaked in darkness. _Where the hell is it?_

“You shouldn’t be up,” Gilgamesh calls out, startling Arjuna enough that he steps on the makeshift bed and breaks a few more twigs.

He glares at the other man as he asks, trying to sound casual about it, “Did you take my journal?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be _our_ journal?” Gilgamesh eyes him curiously as he approaches, setting down the long stick where he had tied a pair of dead birds to. He rekindles their furnace easily by striking two stones against each other; the same ones that Arjuna himself had polished days before. They were down to their last fifteen coals so they have to reuse some of it just to make sure they won’t run out.

They are too far away to ever go back to the camp, not to mention that it’s the last place in this wilderness either of them ever wanted to see again. Besides, who says the pyre would still be there if they ever decided to come back for it? Arjuna doesn’t want to even entertain the notion that whatever remains of the camp may have been destroyed completely. It’s a good thing he preserved the crime scene for posterity in his journal—which the other man took. Arjuna balls his hands into fists. Meanwhile, Gilgamesh busies himself by picking the feathers out of the birds with an unhurried pace, ignoring Arjuna who is glowering at him.

“Why would you need the journal while you were busy hunting anyway?” the prince inquired with a harsher tone than he’d like, “And we both know I have taken possession of that journal as my own personal effect. I’d appreciate it if you ask for my permission first before taking it. And if I wasn’t awake for that, then don’t even take it all.” Was he scowling as well? That’s unlike him.

“You’re very territorial about that journal,” Gilgamesh merely comments dismissively as he begins to wash the birds inside another armor piece they’ve been using for collecting water. He doesn’t even look at Arjuna and is busy with the food preparation instead. “Is it such a big deal that I borrowed it for a while? I needed the maps we made together to find a few places we’ve come across before.”

“Such as what?” Arjuna himself doesn’t understand why he’s being so petulant about this but he holds his stance anyway.

Instead of answering him, Gilgamesh also asks him a question, “What do you think of stew? I think I can make stew. I found some spices—”

“Where did you go back to?” Arjuna interrupts impatiently. “And why would you even? It’s too dangerous to go back.”

“The yellow grapes,” Gilgamesh answers with a calmness that is beginning to infuriate the prince, “I’ve gathered a large quantity of them by now. It’s a very effective cleansing agent we can use for our clothes and for bath. It wasn’t that far. A good three miles, give or take. Besides, I needed the walkabout, and you were still resting.” He finally looks up at Arjuna and gives him a smile that is almost enough for the prince to overlook his act of transgression about the journal (and maybe for abandoning him while he’s asleep). _Almost_.

Sighing in mild irritation, Arjuna counters, “You could use rest as well, King of Heroes.” _And maybe I’ll leave you here. See how you like that_.

Gilgamesh is watching him with a look of curiosity in his face. “By the way, Arjuna, there is something I feel we should discuss.”

He takes out the birds from the water after he’s done rinsing them and then takes his favored dagger out from a small bag he previously made for himself using rabbits’ hide from his hunts. He splashes water into the blade to cleanse it and then he begins to slice into the birds, taking his time. He still talks to Arjuna while doing this, citing, “I’ve looked through the other pages of the journal. You’re right to say that you’ve certainly made it your own. Who knew you were such a talented artist. I’m very much at awe.”

“Ah,” Arjuna replies as he leans against a wall, crossing his arms against his chest. “You refer to my vivid drawings of the camp massacre.”

“Those were _vivid_.” Gilgamesh smirks as he methodically takes out the bones from the birds. “But that wasn’t what caught my attention.”

Arjuna keeps quiet. He knows where this line of conversation is going now but he wouldn’t engage first.

“I know you’ve been interested about the markings in my body since the day you laid eyes on them,” the king explains. “But I had no idea your fixation was that great until I saw how often and how accurate you tried to illustrate them in the journal.” He chuckles and finally looks across at Arjuna, pausing at his work. “I’m very flattered by your attention, prince, especially since we just admitted that we find each other appealing in a carnal sense.” There is a wicked smile on those lips now as he announces that statement.

Arjuna simply shrugs his shoulders. “It was a scholarly interest, Gilgamesh. I was interested in the pattern of your markings—not your body. If those markings were written anywhere else, I would have still been fixated about them as you said. Don’t you think they are curious? And why do they occupy almost half of your body? Perhaps they’re clues to something—something that could lead us out of here.”

“That’s certainly a theory worth exploring,” Gilgamesh concurs easily, “Speaking of exploration, how about we bathe together by the stream this afternoon? There are other markings for you to see. Besides, the sun isn’t as hot around this time of the day. Just let me dip these in spices so they can be preserved and have some actual taste. I’m probably going to boil them too first since they’ll be less chewy that way.” He takes out something from one of the smaller armor pieces and gestures at Arjuna to come close, “Did I mention to you the spices I found?”

“Did you really find some?” Arjuna approaches and bends down to gaze into the container. “But where this time?”

“If only you didn’t need the rest, we could have gone out together, and I would have shown you the fields where the yellow grapes were found—and where these spices are nearby…” Gilgamesh lifts the container so Arjuna can get a whiff of its scent. The prince inhales and is pleased to find that they are herbal spices though he isn’t sure what type they are. He recalls that he must have liked spices in his food too, but for some reason couldn’t’ recall exactly how they taste like in his mouth. He’s going to find out soon enough when they eat. Arjuna actually looks forward to it. His stomach grumbles in confirmation of that. But then he glances at Gilgamesh with an inquiring look, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Wait, what did you mean there are other markings you wanted me to see?” He can’t help but feel suddenly self-conscious by the prospect. 

And then Gilgamesh gives him a gratingly enigmatic smile. “You go ahead of me to undress and bathe. I’ll follow you into the water soon enough, my prince.” His tone is suggestive enough to make Arjuna wince and straighten up stiffly.

“Tch!” Arjuna stomps away and grabs the armor piece with the yellow grapes and his half of the red cloak. He has his back turned away as his cheeks flush hotly. Why did the bastard have to be the way he is? “You have to stop doing that, Gilgamesh!”

“But what did I do this time?” the other man comments innocently. “You’ve been so moody. Is it only because of you’re a little sick?”

“I’ll go now,” Arjuna grumbles roughly as he drags himself out of the cave, gripping at the cloak and armor piece with an almost murderous intent. _You called me ‘my prince’. But I will not—in any way, shape or form—ever become ‘yours’._

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

**The Third Night**

 

 

Arjuna dabbed the wound on his temple using the linen which he soaked in water from their collected ration. He and Gilgamesh were sitting again in the same position as the night before, both fully dressed now. The other man had just finished cleaning up the mess of their earlier scuffle, having no choice but to throw away a few portions of the food they have wasted. Now Gilgamesh was just leaning against the wall of stone, his hand clutching at the dagger with the ivory handle. Arjuna let him have it back, trusting him not to use it again on the prince himself.

“What an eventful day,” Arjuna commented dryly as he pressed the wet linen against his wound and held it there for a while.

“Just be happy I didn’t scar your pretty face.” Gilgamesh remarked offhandedly.

“I could have kicked you and broken something more valuable than your jaw, sire. Be grateful as well,” Arjuna answered, though not unkindly.

Gilgamesh chuckled, shaking his head. “What are we even doing anymore? We should start sleeping now before the blackness comes, but you said that we might never wake up in time for that, and that could put us in a graver disadvantage. And I don’t disagree at all. So, here we are.”

“Here we are,” Arjuna echoed, watching the king intently. “When the black comes, we’ll lose our ability to speak clearly again.”

“It’s not like we have anything meaningful to say to each other at the moment,” the other man eyed his dagger, twisting it around his lap.

“I’m not one for conversation either,” Arjuna was smirking but he was far from amused. “But I am rather curious as to what new horrors the blackness has in store,” the prince chuckled low and then leaned his head against the wall.

“Maybe something about you skull-fucking the same corpse you decapitated?” Gilgamesh suggested. “I’d watch that.”

“Maybe we could even take turns,” Arjuna added, “And that dead beloved of yours could show up too, and we can violate its corpse together.”

Gilgamesh laughed grimly. “We are so fucking hilarious, Arjuna.”

“I’ve been told humor helps in this kind of tricky situations,” the prince was grinning now though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“You realize that we don’t have any means to fight the black, except by relying on each other’s mental strength to resist its magic,” the other man pointed out as he stretched out his legs to meet Arjuna’s. Their eyes were fully on each other now.

“That’s good enough, don’t you think?” Arjuna countered. “I’m of the Pandava, offspring of Hindu gods. And you are of Uruk, offspring of the Babylonian deities. Our lineage and prestige should be enough motivation not to succumb to weakness and defeat. I’d be ashamed if something like this could break me. Wouldn’t you be the same?” He pressed his feet against Gilgamesh’s for emphasis, urging him to display that streak of arrogance the prince rather misses. Quietly, he added, “I’m not going to give in to despair. I was not made to be that human.”

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Gilgamesh said, “That we know who we are and what we are made of but nothing else at all, and so we have no other choice but to cling to the things that are familiar to us for now. And then—and then this black assaulted us with memories that don’t really feel like they belong to us. Even the emotions are wrong as if—as if they weren’t our lives that we saw.” He paused only so he can gulp down.

Arjuna never interrupted once so the king went on, “But in those dreams of gore and grief, what I did feel was real was… _you_ , actually. Not that dead person before me whom I decorated with flowers, not even the remorse and anguish I felt when once that person disappeared.” He leaned forward, holding Arjuna’s gaze. The moment between them was tense, charged with an energy that’s almost maddening.

“What I felt was real the entire time was your presence there. Upon seeing you spill the blood of your own demons, and after then you stepped forward to help me deal with mine, to make sense of the loss—those moments to me felt more real than what I’m supposed to remember in my past. Do you understand what I’m trying to explain?” His expression hardened. “I don’t know why we’re here and where this is but I think…”

Arjuna had been holding his breath as he listened, loosening his grip on the linen that was still on his temple.

“I think what’s important is that we’re the ones who ended up stuck together,” Gilgamesh said. “It could have easily been others, but instead it’s you and me.” The way he said it seemed meaningful, and Arjuna’s chest tightened all of a sudden but he ignored it.

“Do you really believe there is something to that?” Arjuna frowned as he asked, “do you think we’re here simply because of what we are?”

“Or what we have to become to endure this place,” Gilgamesh offered, sighing as his eyes closed, “…to survive the black.”

Arjuna gave it some thought, mulling over the hundred ways things could have been different, but it only made his wound ache so he stopped.

“Whatever happens, Gilgamesh,” he decided to speak up. “Once the blackness gets a hold of us, you need to promise me something.”

Gilgamesh opened his eyes again and waited. Arjuna said, “If I lose myself—you bring me back. And if you lose yourself—I’m bringing you back.”

“On my honor as the King of Heroes,” the other man answered resolutely. “You will not go to the black alone. And we will bring each other back.”

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

The doors open by themselves and the prince steps inside. He walks to the very center of the cavernous room, his gait confident. There’s a smile in his face that hides his anxiety perfectly well as he stands in a relaxed pose, waiting with a patience that goes beyond his years for the meeting to take place. He inspects the bangles that hang loosely around his wrists; at the perfectly carved jewels held together by the golden rings. They were different precious stones in each, and the prince admires them freely as he waits inside the room.

They grace this corner of the world like they always had—without any indication of their presence until they’re just there before the prince’s eyes, spanned in elegant robes that glittered with every motion of their barely tangible bodies. The prince gapes at them for a moment but recovers hastily, not wanting to seem too much of the child he still is. He bows next, dipping his head just right to show respect without submitting himself as an inferior, which he clearly was not, not even to these gods who created him.

He watches them now with the same pleasant smile, hands now clasped behind his back. When they spoke, it was almost as if a choir from the Heavens was synchronizing a mighty tune. It is both overwhelming and terrifying to hear, but not to the prince. “You are summoned here because it is time to bequeath you with the obligation that is fit of your station as the uniting representative between gods and humanity.”

The prince blinks a few times, taking in the gravity of this meeting fully by now, before he deepens his smile. “And I shall answer the call as dutifully and as absolutely as I must, for I am the one and only ruler of creation.” He raises both hands, palms upturned in praise and self-belief, saying, “What do you ask of me, Old Ones? Speak and it shall be granted. I am your will and reason upon humanity.”

“You are as majestic and blessed as the day you are born to bear this world, mighty Gilgamesh, First Hero and Rightful Ruler of Creation,” they speak in higher notes now. “It is time for you to know how much extent such a responsibility entails.”

“I am ready,” the prince answers with a grin even as he tries to conceal his excitement. He could feel that something new is about to happen. Prince Gilgamesh always likes new things. It could be because he is still a fanciful child so used to perfection and utter adoration from everyone who is fortunate enough to be around him, one who tends to enjoy variety and new experiences for he felt very entitled to them. The world is his garden; and most of all, he loves to collect every kind of treasure there is, to make them his prized possessions that no one else could have.

“Step forward and you shall see,” the gods answer him, and Prince Gilgamesh approaches closer to their blinding visage.

He squints his eyes just a bit when he notices something floating mid-air. A ball of light all of a sudden shoots right into his hand which the prince opens involuntarily. Something heavy and beautiful is now on his palm. His trembling fingers curve around it as his mouth opens to say something but no words seem possible to suffice. He could feel his eyes sting. Is he weeping? But why? 

Prince Gilgamesh almost turns his head away, for the first time afraid and embarrassed to be seen so vulnerable. But the gods took notice and a hand reaches out to tenderly cup his cheek so he will look upon them once more. Their words offer comfort and encouragement as they bellowed more symphonic now: “Do not despair, mighty one, for you are Gilgamesh and this is your burden to carry for humanity!”

“It…” the prince glances down at the treasure in his hand. “It looks like a key,” he remarks.

“For it is exactly that,” the gods explain. “It unlocks a divine power that can rupture worlds and realities. It opens the channel to one of our kind, a god once known as Ea who has Created and Redeemed humanity. You know of Ea, do you not, Gilgamesh?”

The child prince is shocked but he nods, “I know of Ea. Do you mean to say you are bequeathing Ea to me as a keeper?”

And the gods laughed, melodious and resonant. “No, First Hero. We are giving _you_ to Ea.”

Prince Gilgamesh understands. “And I am nothing but honored and blessed to be its possession.”

“Not possession, our young Uruk monarch,” they counter, “You are Ea’s kin. You belong to Ea and Ea belongs to you to burden its power.”

Naturally, the child prince pulls the golden key to his chest and lifts his other arm to hold it close. “It is done. I am Ea’s own as Ea is mine.”

“It is done,” the gods echo the vow the prince makes.

The key turns while still in Prince Gilgamesh’s hands. He smiles in rejoice and awe as he holds it up in worship to let the gods see the completion of their will and his. Ea, who dwells in that bottomless space between living and eternal, heeds the call of its new kin, and its key blooms forth effervescent red streaks like veins overflowing with blood. They gradually collapse into twinkling dust, peppering Prince Gilgamesh with the debris. The key disappears from his hands at once as he begins to pull at his robes to reveal the same red markings have made his tiny body their home, spread across it until they coagulated into a pattern he feels are also embedded in his lungs and other glands.

They fade away on the surface quickly, but he still feels them exploding alive inside him, like strings of fate binding him to Ea.

The child prince’s face breaks into an ecstatic, fearless smile.

 

 

 

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been told by a friend at twitter that she can't see a romance ever blooming between these two characters. And I have to concur with her. That's why I only specified Sexual Tension in the other tags. Still, this is still going to get slash-y; but just not in a direction that's necessarily romantic. Arjuna and Gilgamesh, I feel, have demonstrated that they can form sympathy for each other's plight especially since they are forced to co-exist and survive together than apart. However, any kind of relationship that would be emotionally intimate is simply too early to happen in this story. Hence, this is going to be a rather slow burn for anyone who is hoping to get some gay on in the mix. But there will be gay moments. I did promise UST.
> 
> Now I have a great appreciation for Gilgamesh's complexity, and have also learned to enjoy Arjuna's, so I'm really more excited to get them right individually in my characterizations while exploring and expounding on their other layers as they continue on with their journey through the wilderness. Besides, the mystery element of the plot has been thrilling to write, and this is truly the first time I've written something more plot centric. I appreciate any comments and suggestions. It would encourage me a lot especially if any of you are still interested to see this through to the finish line :)


	6. The Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arjuna and Gilgamesh invariably reach the first of many breaking points.

 

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~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

 

The child prince is alone.

He is sitting on the ledge of a wide window overlooking the city. A leather-bound book is open on his lap, the pages thick in breadth and just as ample in content. He crinkles his eyebrows together every now and then in intense concentration before his expression relaxes to indicate his enjoyment of the reading material. He stays like that for a long time. When he finally looks up, he is alone. There are no servants. His brothers have probably either gone to bed or are sparring with each other somewhere in the palace.

The child prince is alone and is very happy.

Soon, he gets a little fatigued and decides to take a break. He closes the book and sets it on the shelf. The many bookshelves furnish his room, enfolding his private space in tranquil perfection. The books themselves are of a hefty bulk, with their exposed spines starkly defined by the colors and substance of their designs. Prince Arjuna runs his fingertips across one shelf of the newest books he has bought just last week, caressing their spines with a kind of affection he usually never shows to real people, not even family.

He looks across his door which is locked and walks to open it. The child prince glances outside where the large hallway looms over him in silence. Prince Arjuna steps out and doesn’t bother closing the door to his room as he trudges the carpeted floor with his shoeless feet. He walks for a while until he reaches the chamber where feasts are usually held and opens that door. The cavernous room in question is vacant. The sunlight cascades down its floors, reflecting small rainbows in certain angles. Prince Arjuna glides inside while humming softly to himself.

It doesn’t occur to him that there is a disparity in the time in his room where it is night, and in the banquet hall now where it is morning. Prince Arjuna visits the other chambers. All the doors are unlocked in the palace, it seems, and yet the child prince still doesn’t find it unusual. He goes to his brothers’ rooms one by one and doesn’t find them. He inspects the servants’ quarters—there is no one.

The only sound reverberating in the palace is the sound of doors being opened.

Too exhausted and baffled to continue with his search, Prince Arjuna goes back inside his room and decides to climb his bed. It’s night.

As he begins to settle on his mattress, he notices there are teeth scattered across the covers. Several sets of them, still bleeding from the mouths they were ripped from. The child prince frowns and then pulls a book under his pillow which he remembers placing there so he doesn’t have to get up anymore to fetch it from one of the shelves. It’s thinner than the one had been reading earlier. Using it, he sweeps the teeth away from his sheets until they all fall to the floor. The child prince then settles more comfortably on his bed and starts reading again.

Pretty soon he is tired again and so he closes his eyes slowly, his vision dimming.

 

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

 

Arjuna wakes to Gilgamesh hovering above him. He recognizes him instantly even as the dream is still fresh in his mind, as if he is still experiencing it. He doesn’t want to get up, at least not yet, so he stares into the king’s eyes and says nothing.

“Something has changed,” Gilgamesh speaks with the weight of his hand on Arjuna’s shoulder. “Come with me.”

“No,” Arjuna manages to answer though too softly to his own liking. “I want to be alone.”

“Didn’t you notice the change? It should have been obvious from the moment you woke up and—”

“I was happy,” Arjuna murmurs as he closes his eyes again. “I was alone and I was happy.”

Whether Gilgamesh heard him or not, he gave no sign. Instead, he moves closer and slides a hand under Arjuna’s head to lift it up. The prince scowls and stubbornly jerks his head around before he turns his back away from Gilgamesh. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on drifting back to sleep, hoping he can go back to the empty palace and his books. _I was alone finally. And I was happy._

“Arjuna,” Gilgamesh interrupts again, “Open your eyes. It’s still night time.”

“That’s why we must sleep,” Arjuna answers, balling his fists before him. He wills himself back to the dream; to the perfect solitude it gave him.

“The blackness is gone, Arjuna.” Gilgamesh was shaking him, “It’s been lifted.”

“You’re wrong…” the prince mutters quietly to himself, “…it’s been inside me all along.”

The king’s hands were upon him now—one on his arm while the other was on his head, brushing through his locks of hair. “Look at me.”

Arjuna doesn’t heed, at least not immediately. When he finally does, he turns slightly so he can look up at the hovering figure of the other man. Gilgamesh looks almost apologetic as he cradles the back of Arjuna’s head now and tries to make him sit up. Feeling much more of himself now, the prince commands his body to rise from the ground he had slept on. His head throbbed painfully for a short while so he doesn’t force himself to make any other movements aside from staying put while Gilgamesh is just staring at him.

“What—what did you say again?” he asks, “Something about…” he trails off when he looks at Gilgamesh and realizes he could actually _see_.

The king recognizes the epiphany that must have been written in Arjuna’s expression because he confirms it. “Yes, it’s still night time but the blackness is gone.” His lips form into a smile of relief, one Arjuna wishes he could share.

“But how?” Arjuna asks instead as he gazes up the sky which answered the question.

There is a moon above them, a perfect circle of light. It is… _beautiful_.

Gilgamesh grabs him by the wrist now, “There’s something else.” Arjuna collects himself from the ground while the King of Heroes pulls him up.

They almost rush outside the boulders together, a little breathless and in awe of the changed scenery before them. They have spent three evenings in this horrific place; one of those nights they couldn’t even remember because of the migraine that afflicted them both separately, while the previous two had submerged them in a blackness that not only comprised their sight but also their sanity.

And now—now there was not only a moon in the horizon but also stars. Arjuna feels his chest swell up with an emotion that he could not name as he looked up, wide-eyed and a little frightened that he can finally see in the dark again. Beside him, Gilgamesh is still holding him, but his fingers slid earlier and they are now clasping each other’s hands. Arjuna doesn’t mind. The moment felt too important to them both to allow even a sliver of shame or awkwardness to soil it, so he says nothing and continues to grip the other man’s hand with a gentle awareness that it would have to be the last time they’ll feel this close to each other, not just in body but perhaps maybe a little more in their souls.

After some time, Gilgamesh speaks up, “I had a dream. You weren’t there though. It was really more of a…memory.”

“I see,” Arjuna is still watching the brilliant star-studded sky. He takes a step forward, pulling Gilgamesh with him as he does. The king follows willingly as they start to stroll together towards the open space of the wilderness. Arjuna doesn’t pay attention to anything else, really, but he hears twigs and grass snap and crunch under their feet. His attention is far too captivated by the night sky.

He then tells the other man, “I had a dream too and you weren’t there as well. I was alone.”

“I wasn’t,” Gilgamesh explains, “I was with—family, I think. Or at least that’s how they want me to call them.”

“My family wasn’t there with me at all,” Arjuna could feel his smile brighten up on his face, “I was alone. I was so…” _happy_.

Gilgamesh grips his hand tighter this time. It made Arjuna turn to at him. “What’s the matter, King of Heroes?”

“Nothing really,” the other man has a soft smile on his lips too. “It’s just that—I think I remember a few pieces of myself after that dream.

Arjuna nods, beaming at him. “So did I. But—” he frowns now, “Why would the darkness do something…out of character all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know,” Gilgamesh looks off to a distance. “But I don’t care either way. It wasn’t like before when I dreamt about—that dead person. I didn’t feel anything. But this dream—this dream made me _feel_ something, and the feeling is positive. I’d like to hold onto that at least. Who knows when the next piece of hope comes? If it ever comes along again, that is.”

“I understand,” Arjuna exhales, closing his eyes to collect his thoughts. “I will do the same as well. I will cling to that feeling and never forget again.” He finds himself glancing down at their hands as their fingers interlace briefly before he gets self-conscious again and wrenches away.

Gilgamesh doesn’t comment on it. He just settles down on the grass and looks up. Arjuna watches the glimmer of the stars above some more as he sits next to him. After some time, he notices that Gilgamesh is watching him instead. The prince doesn’t mind anymore, pretending to ignore the weight of the other man’s gaze as he feels the two of them sliding closer together on the grass 

Arjuna inhales the scent of the evening as a cold wind unfurls around them. Its sensation is one of invitation, however, as if it’s beckoning both men to relax and just enjoy this short moment of beauty and reprieve that may never come again.

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

**The Seventh Day**

Arjuna chews on the yellow grapes slowly to make sure it cleanses his gums and teeth just right. Perhaps he should take Gilgamesh on his offer and accompany him the next time he ventures out so he can see for himself where the king picked these delightful fruits.

The other man in question finally joins him in the water. The stream nearby the cave they’ve been staying in was narrower than most and only reached their waists. Still, it is convenient, and Gilgamesh certainly finds the time to launder his dark blue sleeves and tights (and even Arjuna’s achkan and angarkha) before he even decides to get into the water to bathe. The prince had watched him in silent bemusement as he scrubbed their clothing, applying a generous amount of the yellow grapes on the thick fabrics.

He will never in a million years imagine that the great king of Mesopotamia, hailing from mighty Uruk, would ever be so… _domestic_. But that’s exactly how he has been since the blackness reveals to both of them the memory of Gilgamesh’s dead loved one—except the king still doesn’t remember who it is.  Gilgamesh has done nothing but hunt or cook and sometimes launder ever since then, and though he and Arjuna did make a pact to talk about their troubles as honestly as they can manage, neither of them truly initiates a conversation about it.

They are not the easiest of men to engage in any kind of discourse involving their emotions. The last time they had come close to it is during the third night before the moon and stars appeared. The king opened up to him then, claiming that Arjuna feels real to him than the memory the blackness had shown, and Arjuna never admitted then but he clearly could do now that the King of Heroes had become vital to Arjuna at this point and not only because of the alliance they have formed to keep survival a priority. Aside from the vivid clues he would fixate on concerning the massacre at the camp, Gilgamesh is another thing he endeavors to make sense of.

Why did it have to be this man whom Arjuna has to find himself entrapped with in a dizzyingly deceptive place and not another? Does the answer of their exile to this wilderness really had something to do with who they are and what they are just as Gilgamesh suggested back when they were hiding in the boulders? What was that cloying blackness before and why has it gone now?

Would it ever come back? Would the starry nights during their nocturnal travels suddenly dim again and they won’t be enough of an anchor to each other to safeguard their sanity? Arjuna hates contemplating the cynical possibilities, but he’s been very fatigued and troubled by certain images about _teeth_ and _empty rooms_ that sketching them is all he could do, almost as if some entity has taken possession of him and command his fingers to keep drawing what he could only reveal in art. Arjuna wonders if there is an ongoing disembodiment from his own psyche, and what it could mean. Unable to comprehend the rest, he splashes water on his face to clear the thoughts away.

“Do you know how I know when you’re sulking again, prince?” Gilgamesh approaches slowly, gliding across the water between them. “Your eyes go dark.” The king’s red markings seem more etched on his skin than the usual, if it was even possible.

“What a comforting observation,” Arjuna shoots back, glaring just a bit at the other man as he turns his body to the side. “I didn’t know you’ve become well-versed now of the minuscule details of my behavior.”

“It’s been a week,” Gilgamesh remarks, “And we’ve been cooped up together almost all the time. I’ve gotten used to you by now.”

Arjuna openly grimaces, “And then you leave for hours without even informing. It’s not wise to get separated, King of Heroes.”

Gilgamesh merely shrugs his shoulders, “The walkabout helps me think.”

“Care to share those thoughts?” Arjuna presses on just a little, narrowing his eyes.

“If you’d like,” Gilgamesh answers as he crosses his arms now. The haughty pose is nostalgic of the man he used to be days ago when Arjuna first met him. But he hasn’t been that man in awhile. It’s as if the more he broke apart the pieces of his golden armor, the more he is transformed before Arjuna—more human and inclined to be preyed upon by weaknesses.

“Very well,” the prince replies, “Let us discuss these thoughts then—”

“Only if you tell me about the pages upon pages you’ve been working on in _your_ journal,” the other man’s lips curve into a smirk. “It seems to me that as much as you accuse me with suspicious behavior, you are the one who has more to hide between us. So, Arjuna, what of the camp? What of my markings? What of those illustrations of gore and death? Are they mere macabre fascination or something more telling of the nature of your person?” There is a veiled accusation in his statement that Arjuna is not going to just overlook.

“Are you asking me if I’m a killer?” Arjuna returns the smirk. “But of course I am. We’re both of the warrior class. And we have already resolved that neither of us murdered those people at the camp. So why are we rehashing this? What has suddenly changed now?” He clenches his fists on his sides. The tips of his fingers muddled by charcoal for days now itch to be holding his bow and arrow instead.

“The blackness tormented us for a while,” Gilgamesh explains. “Its threat is so real that it felt as if it found a way inside our own minds and ripped the cords that keep our memories together, jumbling them up until we barely retain the things we remember from the past and the sentimental associations we may have with them. But now—now it’s almost too laconic. Nothing has happened for almost four days now since the stars appeared. We’ve trekked and trekked and then you got sick.” He shakes his head, closing his eyes, “None of it fits. None of it ever did.”

“Exactly,” Arjuna comments hastily and scoffs, “We’re slowly losing a battle we’re not even actively fighting. And I don’t know how to deal with a monster that I feel as if is not out there but…but deeply rooted in my own core and yours.” He pauses. “Do you not feel it, Gilgamesh? The toll? The irresistible urge to just…let go and see if something else in us takes over?”

“What madness do you speak of now?” The other man’s expression hardens. “What monster inside us? Arjuna, you’re worrying me.”

The prince locks eyes with the King of Heroes, steadily maintaining it in silence until everything else around them also hushed down.

“On the third night we both dreamt,” Arjuna says, “but we never saw each other in our dreams, unlike in the previous ones.”

Gilgamesh shifts in his position. The water ripples beneath him. “You want to ask about my dream’s specific details? Then I want to know yours.”

“You said there is something more to your markings you want to show me…” Arjuna trails off, his eyes darting downwards.

“What a coincidence,” Gilgamesh chuckles almost darkly. “They have something to do with the dream I had, actually.”

“In honor of our pact, you must disclose now,” Arjuna tries not to grit his teeth.

“I dreamt of the old gods,” Gilgamesh exhales as he speaks, “And they had given me the most important duty yet as the peacemaker between their kind and humans. It is—no other than being spiritually bound to the one they call Ea, the very divine power of creation itself. They—gave me this key…” the king’s eyes haze up as if he is seeing the scene before him now, “and it holds the power to remake the world upon a destruction it can also cast on it,” Gilgamesh meets Arjuna’s eyes again, “And I believe it is my most treasured weapon in my—my—” he was struggling to recall something else. “I believe what I have is called the Gate of Babylon.”

Arjuna nods stiffly. “My bow’s blessed named is Agni Gandiva. I have never forgotten that though I’m not sure where it is now—or if it was lost.” He stops. “I remember you saying something about being summoned by a magus?”

“Did I?” Gilgamesh frowns. “Yes, that does sound right. But…I don’t even know for what reason—or why.”

“Strange,” Arjuna can only comment. And then: “So, what does your dream have to do with the markings on your body?”

“These,” Gilgamesh holds up his hands to his chest and abdomen, “I think they are Ea’s own essence merging with my physical form.”

“There is an enchantment to them after all?” Arjuna inquires, finding himself unable to stop approaching until they were only a yard apart.

“No, it’s something more complicated than that,” Gilgamesh frowns, clearly struggling to remember again. “They…feel like they have a life of their own.” He suddenly grabs Arjuna’s hand, “Here. Feel that. Right there…”

The prince feels more cautious than bashful but he obeys and begins to probe the spot on Gilgamesh’s stomach area. “What?”

Gilgamesh slides Arjuna’s hand up until it rests on the spot where his ribcage is. “Do you feel that?”

“Unless you’ve been lying to me and you’re a woman with child all this time then I don’t know what I’m supposed to—”

There it was. It was so brief that it could have been illusionary, but Arjuna undeniably feels his palm glow with something _red_ before it heats up. It made him snatch his hand away out of shock. But then he immediately places it back on the spots Gilgamesh had him probe seconds ago, his curiosity and frustration more apparent by now. He squints and keeps pushing his fingers.

“Don’t force it!” Gilgamesh now shoves Arjuna’s hands away. “It’s something involuntary, but yes, these markings are very much alive.”

The prince scowls now. _This is just fucking rich_. “Great. So in addition to a blackness that could come back anytime, a massacre we haven’t even solved yet, and dreams we can’t begin to explain why they feel disconnected from us—and now, _now_ we also have to deal with the fact that you are housing a foreign entity. Do you even know if it’s influencing your actions somehow?”

“Oh, you mean like how the ‘monster’ inside you compels you to draw and _brood_ about _wasteful_ things?” Gilgamesh is sounding angry as well.

“Fuck you, King of Heroes,” Arjuna loses his temper more freely now, and splashes Gilgamesh with water.

“You are a _child_!” the other man scolds him and splashes back water at him. “A taciturn child who _pouts_ about the _smallest_ things!”

“Smallest things?!” Arjuna now shoves the king by the shoulders. “You know _nothing_ of _my_ burdens!”

“Enough!” Gilgamesh grabs one of Arjuna’s wrist, “I don’t wish to fight you! This is insane! We’re both _grown_ men. And _divine_ _warriors_ —”

Arjuna splashes him again, hitting the king with water right into his mouth while he is still talking.

“Fucker!” Gilgamesh now grabs him by the back of his head and tries to smack his face into the water, but Arjuna is quick and he ducks away just in time to reach and try to throttle the King of Heroes by his throat. They wrestle violently in the water for a while, grappling and shoving each other off until it became almost playful, and both men ended up collapsing to their knees, kneeling in surrender before one another.

Panting, Arjuna rakes his fingers through his wet hair. To his mild surprise, Gilgamesh reaches out and picks something from one of his strands.

“Must have been from the makeshift bed of twigs,” Arjuna comments when he sees the stray leaf that Gilgamesh had just plucked.

“Do you remember the night when the stars came?” Gilgamesh suddenly asks. Arjuna merely blinks at him so the other man goes on, “It is so peaceful then as if nothing could ever go wrong—actually, it’s more like…if anything did at that moment, I was going to be fine about it because—” he stops and widens his eyes as he stares almost dumbly at Arjuna.

“What?” The prince frowns, growing annoyed by the randomness of this conversation now. “Speak up…”

“I…” Gilgamesh looks lost for a moment. Arjuna feels uncomfortable and nervous, unable to pinpoint as to why.

“While we sat there on the grass together, all I could think about was—” Gilgamesh is still not making any sense, but he swallows the anxiety and tries explaining himself again, “Arjuna, I thought then that you have the kind of smile that someone might die for just for the slim chance they might glimpse it.” As soon as he utters those words, Gilgamesh’s face collapses at the weight of their meaning.

They lock eyes and did not dare to breathe. Arjuna opens his mouth to comment but his brain freezes right there and then.

The King of Heroes exhales forcefully this time and throws away the leaf, finally looking away first.

Arjuna grits his teeth. “Why the fuck would you even say that to me?” _You son of a whore._

“Can we just forget about it?” Gilgamesh is already making a move to turn away and walk out of the water but Arjuna doesn’t allow it.

He grips the king by the shoulder and makes him face him again. “We agreed we’re not doing this.”

“And we’re not,” Gilgamesh tries to shake off his hand but the prince’s other hand now grabs the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“Shut up,” Arjuna interjects, eyes narrowing into angry slits. “And just remember that you asked for this—”

He expects that this would have to be vicious and messy, but Gilgamesh has anticipated it and willingly parts his lips and accepts Arjuna’s tongue sliding through, curling and swiping around his own. The prince breathes in and in and in until his chest tightens from the lack of oxygen. He has to wrench himself away for a while before diving in again, this time with more careful intent as their mouths aligned perfectly and in haste. He takes Gilgamesh by the sides of his head as he leans further, as if he was preparing to snap his neck if Arjuna does feel like it later on, while the King of Heroes claws his nails at his back, which allowed their bodies to fit more snugly around each other.

In a way, they are still arguing but instead of words they’re exchanging spit and a few clashes of gums. The fruity essence of the yellow grapes slick their tongues appetizingly enough that they almost forgot who they’re even doing this to, especially now that it’s starting to feel good. Arjuna probes his fingertips against the other man’s scalp as if to leave indents on his skull. He moans in surprise when Gilgamesh suckles on his tongue next, making the prince apply more pressure as he now moves the wet ligament in and out, teasing the passage of Gilgamesh’s mouth with the imagined scenario of how it would be like if Arjuna does claim him during a bedding—with agonizingly slow and deep thrusts.

Shockingly enough, it is Gilgamesh who pulls away first. He stares blankly at Arjuna as he pants loudly. The prince is heaving too and does not tear his eyes away from the sick, offensive man who had crowded his breathing space seconds ago. The taste of him clings to his gums like the yellow grapes, and Arjuna has to wipe his lips with his arm before he shakes his head and says, “Let’s not. It’s over. We don’t engage again.”

Gilgamesh counters, “You were the one who couldn’t resist.”

“I’m ending this now,” Arjuna tries to move away to get out the stream but Gilgamesh seizes his wrist and tugs him back.

“You’re not that stupid,” the King of Heroes glowers at him, “We both know it’s only the beginning from here on.”

Arjuna groans in frustration and wrenches himself free of the other man’s grasp. “Fuck you, King of Heroes…” he mutters.

And Gilgamesh’s laughter spills out of him, his eyes wine-dark as he proclaims, “Exactly.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, comments are immensely appreciated.


	7. The Levees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilgamesh struggles to make sense of pieces that won't fit, and walks alone for miles while his unlikely ally stays behind.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

**The Present**

 

 

They should not have time for this—not in the grand scheme of things—yet they made time. 

The King of Heroes who hailed from mighty Uruk, an offspring of gods much like Arjuna himself, had now been plucked from the pedestal he had dwelt in for a long time; dragged down to lay on top of the messy pile of twigs and leaves inside a cave in the middle of nowhere with the prince hovering above, ready to spoil him. Arjuna is of the Pandava, and he was a creature leaning towards isolation foremost, but here amidst the eerie wilderness he allowed himself to savor the company of the other regal man.

Their memories have gaps between them that often invalidate how they feel about certain things. Gilgamesh still couldn’t fathom the identity of the loved one he lost a lifetime ago as if the grief of that was never his to begin with, while Arjuna could remember pieces of his heritage especially the brothers he grew up with, yet every time he focuses on one of them in particular— _Karna_ , he recalls, _the brother I have slained was named Karna_ —he understood that perhaps forgetting for a while would be the best course of action.

So at this moment he tried to forget more unexplained portions of himself by trailing his hands across the red markings Gilgamesh’s skin were imprinted with; the sentience in them didn’t discourage Arjuna’s exploration at all but rather invigorated it.

Gilgamesh kept himself steady as he met Arjuna’s eyes with a heated gaze and a lazy smirk. The prince grabbed him by the sides of his head again as if his fingertips could mold the shape of his skull into something more malleable. He crushed their mouths together, tongue and teeth alternately sucking and nipping at all the right, sensitive spots in the other man’s mouth. Gilgamesh pressed himself more securely around Arjuna by wrapping his arms around the prince’s back, fitting their bodies perfectly while their groins locked in place, sealing their arousal within a shared space where every movement is a continental shift that realigns the axis of their worlds.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

**The First Day**

 

 

When he does come around, the air around him burns, making his muscles tense up due to the pressure. A high note of some sort digs into his ears, making his skull vibrate, if such a thing is even possible. He tries to alleviate it by attempting to tune out and focus on something else, but it is persistent and ever present. Gilgamesh grits his teeth and forces himself to address the other man before him; the one he had just kicked slightly with his armored boot. The man finally stirs after a minute, adjusting his sight.

The King of Heroes wastes no time and asks with a demanding tone, “Who are you, mongrel? And what is this wretched place you have brought me to? Speak now or lose your tongue for good!” He huffs for emphasis.

The man is far from plain-looking. His pristine white robes hint to a possible regal bearing. If Gilgamesh could put aside the irritation he had chosen to anchor himself with at this moment, he might even admit that the other man is rather handsome. The King of Heroes ignores that insignificant observation for now as he demands yet again, “What trickery is this? Answer me, fool!”

His only response is to stand on his feet, a hand wiping the creases from his otherwise perfect clothing. The man gives him what can only be described as a glare mixed with both fury and bemusement. Gilgamesh expects some protest or attack, and he is more than prepared for either, but the other man surprises him when he simply says, “I am no mongrel, and you do not command me.”

Gilgamesh crosses his arms and takes one step forward, decisive and exact. With their eyes locked on each other, he says in a hushed yet stern tone, “I have no time for your excuses, not in my current state. Now, if you truly were not responsible for wherever you and I have landed, then I suggest you banish yourself from my sight for I do not have tolerance for simpering, useless mongrels such as yourself!”

The man blinks only once. His expression now hardens but only around the eyes. The rest of him is calm. It is almost impressive. He moves his head to scan around the area where they’re both standing on and his face registers enough genuine curiosity and anxiety that confirmed to Gilgamesh that he doesn’t know anything either. When his eyes shift once again to the King of Heroes, he only utters, “I shall go on my own way. Do take care.” It is so devoid of any emotion that it had made Gilgamesh narrow his eyes as a smirk spreads across his lips.

There is something determinedly different about the other man. He had to be no ordinary mortal. Something about the way he commands his speech and body language under wraps indicates a well-disciplined mind that doesn’t break so easily under pressure or slight confrontation.

Gilgamesh decides to let the man go, seeing as he has no reason to actually continue the argument, not when there is a more pressing concern to fix his attention and energy to. Still garbed in his royal golden armor, he proceeds to walk to the opposite direction, aimless yet unnerved.

The high-pitched tone hasn’t stopped at all. In fact, it had somewhat intensified, drilling into the King of Heroes’ consciousness now, but he still ignores it, more focused on figuring out where he is before he passes out. The canopy of a thousand leaves greets him the moment he steps outside, and the sight of greenery is astounding like an assault to the senses. It makes the rest of his body boil inexplicably, ready to evaporate into gas. The King of Heroes has no words to describe the foreign sensation except to recognize it as helplessness.

It is fucking nonsense for Gilgamesh is never bereft of strength. He drags his feet across the ground and stops himself short when his eyes dart down just in time to see a quicksand before him. He scowls and grabs at the tendrils of vines near him, pulling and tugging to test them.

Satisfied they would not break, he crosses through the quicksand by stepping onto stray large stones found on the sides where the earth is still solid. Gilgamesh manages to cross just fine, but he begins to feel drowsy, at the mercy of that persistent hum tearing through his own self-assured defenses. He collapses to his knees, yet he is feeling angrier to be under anyone’s control than actually concerned of the searing pain spreading across his skull, as if he is being bashed against rocks. It steals his breaths away, making him pant like a dog.

With no sense of time or direction, Gilgamesh only manages to crawl to a safer distance away from the quicksand. He squeezes his eyes shut before he covers his face with his armored arms, lying on his left side there on the dirt like a forsaken child. It is a humiliating position, but the proud king couldn’t even contemplate it now, not while the disquiet in the wilderness takes over him, and cloaks him in unknown slumber.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

**The Second Day**

 

 

He stirs with a vagueness that is at once both alarming and freeing. The King of Heroes stretches himself from where he lay, turning at last to lie on his back and stare up the sky. Curiously empty, he stays there for a while, unaccustomed to such vulnerability yet not entirely unfamiliar to its dull-edged sting. He manages a small chuckle as he sits up, glancing around the lush greenery surrounding him.

The sun is directly above him now. He remembers quite clearly that it was hanging halfway close to the edge of the sky’s horizon hours ago. Could it mean that the King of Heroes has slept throughout the night and had woken up to a new day? It does feel as if he had too much sleep.

Gilgamesh touches two fingers on his temple and is pleased to find the migraine has desisted. He gets up to shuffle through the forest with a laconic pace at first. His armor clanks with every move as the golden surface gleams rather harshly as soon as the sunlight makes contact with it. He ignores all of this and proceeds to trek through, his cautious eyes taking note of any disturbance that was not made by his presence. He recalls that there is another man who came with him in this place, but he cannot concern himself with that just yet.

A few more jagged turns later, and he immediately stumbles upon a pathway. It is a narrow strip composed of scattered leaves and broken twigs. Gilgamesh is sure there is someone who has traveled this way, and he follows it without hesitation or need for pause.

The path takes him to a large pyre, and it was the oddest installation anyone could ever find in the middle of nowhere. The cinders glow faintly across its broad surface, like some pitiful imitation of twinkling stars in an ashen plane. The smoke reeks of death; it’s the unmistakable stench of rotting body parts being sizzled into charred meat. A closer inspection confirms this for Gilgamesh, and the first thing that comes to mind, of course, are cannibals. He creeps into the nearby tall shrubbery then, both to conceal himself and to examine other disturbances in the soil and plants that could tell him if there have been others around—and whether or not they are still here.

His body is posed for an attack like a slithering snake hidden by blades of grass as it prepare for its venomous strike. The King of Heroes knows he must have kept weapons in his person at the very least, and is dismayed to find he had none to speak of. He feels as if he has forgotten something, and when tries to recall what it could be, the migraine slams into him, almost knocking the breath out of him. Something is clearly wrong. Not only does he not remember how he got into this damned place, he also doesn’t understand why the mere act of recollection itself becomes a torturous mental exercise that threatens to make him pass out. Gilgamesh grits his teeth and clenches his fists as he steps out in the open and hastily turns his body around to cover all bases of his line of sight. He feels cornered in spite of the vastness of space.

This forest looks almost endless from where he stands; a stretch of trees upon trees upon trees, yet there is no sound of animal life, not even birds. Gilgamesh finds the eerie silence suspicious for it definitely leaves an impression that this may all be just a delusion. Is he dreaming? Had he not awoken yet? He tests his own sensitivity to sensations and then the tangibility of his surroundings. No, this was no dream or delusion.

Where the fuck is he? And why can’t he remember anything else aside from his identity?

He trudges on, growing desperate and even more furious that somewhere, somehow, something was controlling him. Somebody has to be responsible for this! He pushes through an alarming if not disturbing amount of vines on crooked trees, twisted in the strangest poses, until he finds that other man he encountered yesterday. While still a good two feet apart, Gilgamesh assesses the new environment he has stumbled upon, and comes to the quick conclusion that it’s a camp. The other man does seem as if he had just stepped into this place as well, and he is carrying a bag made out of animal skin, possibly filled with looted goods. Ah, how fortunate for him.

He had no plans to ever approach the man, but a sudden decrease in temperature made Gilgamesh shudder in a way he had never done before. The silence has suddenly become deeper and ominous around him, almost as if being caught in the eye of a storm. Without second guessing himself, the King of Heroes dashes for the other man and then grabs him with such force they had slammed against a nearby tree. He pushes a hand against the man’s mouth and stares directly into the man’s dusky eyes and demands, “Do you not hear that, mongrel?”

He lowers his hand now once he is sure that the man will not do anything reckless. He manages to say, “No,” with a trace of derision in his voice.

“Too quiet,” Gilgamesh whispers, “Something is not right with this place.”

The man is still glaring at him. There is a faint crimson shade which spread rather prettily across his cheeks that denotes his embarrassment upon being blindsighted earlier, which Gilgamesh is glad for. That means he is not as stoic as he seemed to have projected to the King of Heroes yesterday. He needs to be just as aware of the dangers of this place as Gilgamesh is because the king can’t shake the detestable feeling that they are not the only ones alive in this forsaken place. The dread curls in his gut with a vice grip, and it’s annoying as hell.

As soon as he shifts his weight from one foot to another, he hears a distinct crunch under his armored boot. It’s a sickening sound. The King of Heroes somehow not only understands that the things scattered beneath their feet are not fallen leaves at all, but also recognizes that these things surrounding them have been burnt to a crisp perfection of brutality.

It is the other man who looks up first above the tree they are standing on, really, while Gilgamesh merely follows his gaze.

There are sets of teeth hanging from the branches, all ripped and torn from people’s mouths and displayed above like bloody halos. Gilgamesh narrows his eyes at them for a moment and then lowers his gaze back to the ground where the burnt human skin and some chopped organs were. It was easy to connect the dots, especially after he had stumbled upon the pyre earlier.

The man beside him gives a start and begins to look around the camp in haste, possibly in search of the culprit. Gilgamesh joins him to show they are united in their concerns although he is more preoccupied formulating theories of the odd situation they found themselves caught up in. He is pretty sure that neither of them committed the massacre. Although the other man is a complete stranger, Gilgamesh is sure that it couldn’t have been him. He recalls the pyre and the cooling coals on its surface. He thinks of the way the man exited one of the tents earlier with the bag made of animal hide slung across his body. Circumstantially speaking, the man is the only possible suspect for the crime yet Gilgamesh thinks it’s just _too easy_ of a resolution. No, something else is at work here. It’s better not to trust anything at face value.

“What could have done this abomination?” the man announces when they found themselves under the tree of savagery again.

Gilgamesh offhandedly remarks, “It’s probably someone who is artistically-inclined. You can’t deny the decorative characteristic of such a ritual.”

“This does not repulse you?” The tone the other man used is one of disgust and shock which the King of Heroes smiled at.

“We’ve never been properly introduced,” he replies, “I am Gilgamesh of Uruk, King of Heroes and all of creation. Who am I addressing? Speak.”

The man eyes him for a moment before he says, “Arjuna of the Pandava. Prince and Awarded Hero.”

He isn’t surprised to find that the other man is indeed royalty and one with a reputation. Gilgamesh misses no beat as he explains, “It might be best to form an alliance after all, young prince. This is a strange place, and neither of us knows its name or how we came to stumble upon it. Perhaps it may not be pure chance. Perhaps someone wanted us here.  It’s wise to pair up, yes?”

The man doesn’t speak. He locks his eyes on Gilgamesh, though, his interest obviously piqued.

“We must always strive for simplicity for both our sakes, and our ultimate survival,” Gilgamesh adds after some interval of silence, “If we can avoid complications between us, the better. I don’t want to be here any more than you do.” His gaze quickly darts to the bag the prince had been carrying around. “Are you sure you have gathered everything that can be useful?”

The prince who calls himself an Awarded Hero smirks mockingly. “If you are so inclined to check again, then be my guest, _sire_.”

He almost laughs at that unmistakable sarcasm but only replies, “How blessed I am to be stuck with a comedian at least.” The glare he also gives is weak for the King of Heroes is more concerned with the theories that are taking shape secretly in his mind.

Gilgamesh leaves the prince to his own musings as he walks ahead to the direction of the pyre.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

**The Third Day**

 

 

He might have misled the prince about the pyre, but not out of any ill intentions or ulterior motives. Gilgamesh simply did not think that stumbling upon the pyre first was a relevant detail, much like the fact that the prince discovered the location of the camp first. Besides, he at least did mean it when he said he will contribute to their timely alliance, especially after the shock of the ‘blackness’ last night. He could never have anticipated such phenomenon. Once again, an outside force is working against Gilgamesh, and he had to find a way to neutralize the threat by utilizing the tools that are within his reach—this Pandava prince is just one of them.

And what a fine piece of tool he is.

The said stellar specimen is swimming all by himself in the corner of the stream. It is a small body of water so even if the prince keeps his distance, Gilgamesh could still find him easily, especially when he insisted to sun himself atop a huge rock which is probably not one of his wisest choices. The unbearable fucking heat is fire he could feel in his veins, but the King of Heroes would like to think he had weathered worst, so he stays there on the rock for a good five minutes before he does dive back into the cool embrace of water beneath. He sees Arjuna perched on top of another rock near the grass and their bearings this time, and promptly joins him with a lingering glance at his naked torso.

With dusky skin like warm chocolate and a pair of intelligent and captivating eyes, this prince is quite a portrait to look at, and because there is nothing to do right now while also still being burdened with too many unanswered questions, Gilgamesh sits beside him and begins to vent; a display of vulnerability is always good at establishing sympathy from the other party. He makes sure it’s enough but also not too little, and Arjuna responds in the manner he expected. Once an understanding is reached between them, Gilgamesh delivers a proposal he had been crafting since earlier this morning—when Arjuna touched the markings in his body with such honest curiosity that made the King of Heroes want to do the same things to the other man’s body, if ever the mood strikes him. The prince would not dare deny him the right.

“We shall remain supportive of one another, assist one another, in every activity that requires much physical endurance—even the mental kind,” Gilgamesh emphasizes the last one clearly, “As we both know, we’re getting uncomfortable and increasingly moody as the days stretch on. It would be advisable that we curtail this, maybe even compartmentalize them. In that sense, when one of us suffers such bouts of…”

“Moods,” Arjuna fills in easily enough which the king is expecting.

“…then the other must seek a way to appease,” Gilgamesh throws the rock into the water, watching it ripple before it sank. “We must take turns in this role and we should never, ever get cross with one another. I’m sure we’ll figure out how to conduct ourselves better in response to each other. It’s simplicity foremost that we must strive for. Anything that could complicate this alliance will diminish its usefulness to us.”

The prince agrees to the terms, but also adds his own condition.

“I ask full disclosure from you especially when regarding our memories. We can probably piece together things from there. Perhaps there is something in those memories that could give us clues on how and why we were brought here. That means that regardless of how… _personal_ the memory may seem, there is still a need to discuss its relevance in our current situation. Is this acceptable to you?”

Gilgamesh wonders about the repercussions of that, but only in passing, as he replies, “I can concur with that, Prince Arjuna of the Pandava,” He extends a hand for the other man to shake. He could not help himself though, and depending on whose perspective, he could have either blatantly or subtly grazed one of his fingers against Arjuna’s palm. To his delighted surprise, the prince makes a comment that couldn’t have been taken as anything but flirtatious, at least as far as the king is concerned.

He says: “Your pasty complexion will truly burn if you don’t dry up and put on your armor soon, sire. I can see hints of red blotches on your cheeks, as red as the markings on the rest of your body…” He then glances down at the rest of Gilgamesh’s body, eyes lingering too long in certain places that actually made the King of Heroes tense before he exhales into laughter.

Nothing more demonstrative happens, however, for both men are jesting and have no time to push through such pointless indulgence.

They got dressed in their respective spots and only when Arjuna begins to write something on that journal he picked up from the camp did Gilgamesh approach to see what it’s all about. “Are you, perhaps, mapping what we have covered in our walks?”

He leans closer and inspects the prince’s sketching with a mild interest.

“Exactly that, Gilgamesh…” It is the first time the prince ever referred to him by namesake. Something about it unsettles the king.

“That’s not where that was,” Gilgamesh points at a shape where Arjuna marked a location. “It’s supposed to be here…” he moves is finger on an empty space in the page. “I remember it clearly. But yes, this looks good. You’re impressively laying down the right landmarks. Keep going…”

He is smiling now, somewhat relieved that if they succeed in making a decent enough cartography, they won’t have to find themselves ever lost in this creepy, infuriating wilderness with no name.

Gilgamesh had been lost once, a long time ago, and he almost did not find a way back.

But he was young and easier to break then. History shall not repeat itself.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

**The Fourth Day**

 

 

He is walking away from the two boulders with an unhurried pace, as if in a stupor which is probably the case. The morning finds him irritable and distraught, perturbed by the remnants of last night’s haunting. He drags himself across the suffocating overgrowth that seemed to be closing in on him, its elongated vines reaching to bind him; the trees looming above or twisted into poses that mimic something akin to human. Gilgamesh realizes he has no specific direction to go but he ventures forth anyway, thankful that Arjuna is not following.

The other man in question is more content to be sheltered in their chosen space last night, tucked away from the rest of the woods but not entirely safe from the ghouls of the night. How foolish and irrevocably useless! Gilgamesh knows this now, so he’d rather tread through the forest and get more acquainted with its labyrinth; to seek out its deceptions and unravel them. His bravery falters, however, when he tries to recite to himself the identity that should be his most powerful solace _. I am Gilgamesh, Humanity’s First Hero. I am the Rightful Ruler of Creation._ He recites the lines like a personal prayer, tailored as a perfect fit to the ego he nurses like a territory separate from his being.

_I am Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh. I have not forgotten. I am not lost._

His bravery falters because the words taste like dry sand in his mouth. They cease to mean anything.

He stumbles upon a fallen tree branch with his foot caught upon it. He loses his balance but only collapses to his knees, his hands already pushing back against the earth so he can lift himself up and prevail. _I am Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh_.

The sky above is coalescing into an ocean of bliss, the rising sun’s thin strips of light passing through clouds in a tranquil pace as if the world beneath it had not cracked for Gilgamesh at all. He finds himself so terribly dismantled and scooped hollow yet the rest of the greenery descends upon him was like a mother’s embrace, seeking him with faint lullabies, cradling him into submission and repose.

He fights it and reaches for the dagger he had been using hours ago, the one with an exquisite ivory handle. He begins to carve into the fallen branch that entrapped him. It is a language of dead gods and a kingdom that had already been swallowed up by dust and darkness.

He writes frantically _I am Gilgamesh_ because his life depends on it, because he has nothing else but the knowledge he is _still_ Gilgamesh.

The king pulls himself from the ground and scurries to the next tree to carve upon it more words of his identity. He goes to another one. _I am Humanity’s First._ And another _. I am the King of Heroes._ And another. _Rightful Ruler of Creation_. And so forth and so forth.

Gilgamesh will rewrite the very fabric of existence in this hell-begotten wilderness if he has to, to rebuke its thieving clutches on his soul and reassert his own agency. He laughs in mirthless confidence as the dagger cuts through his wooden adversaries, slaying them with the only language that ever made sense to him. He slices through vines and crushes the leaves, then he runs beside the narrow stream that leads back to the source from yesterday. He recalls that he had stripped his golden armor from himself, breaking it into parts so they can be utilized for more practical uses. He had left them in Arjuna’s care back in the boulders. He has no need for them now.

Gilgamesh ventures back to the trail where trees engraved by the Akkadian word for ‘Keep Going’ were his only guide. His lungs heavy with the weight of his determination, he runs through the trail as if to renew himself; before the blackness had ever taken over his tongue and rendered him unable to communicate the simplest of thoughts. He travels this trail with echoing steps, pretending for a moment his memories are still intact, that the same blackness had never plucked them from his subconscious during slumber.

The King of Heroes runs with that goal in mind, and to forget for a moment that Arjuna is still back at the boulders, possibly mulling over his own secret shames. If he thinks about Arjuna, he will recall that said man had appeared in his own landscape of dreams, how he was bloodied with war and eager to offer him the heart of someone Gilgamesh was sure he knew well, but not anymore.

He stops only to catch his breath and because he can already discern the original stream from yesterday appearing in his line of sight ahead.

As soon as he reaches the stream, he jumps into the water then glides through so he can cross the other side which was near a slope he had not explored yesterday but suspected to be something he can traverse. Gilgamesh pulls himself up by stabbing his dagger on the earth, climbing out as he used that for purchase. When he encounters the slope, he doesn’t hesitate and jumps again. He slides down through the tumble of weeds and wet soil, dirtying himself, but Gilgamesh could see now it was worth the exhaustion.

There is an abundance of fruits around him and they _glowed_ yellow, effervescent in contrast of the dark green leaves that enfold them. Gilgamesh is on his knees as he tears through a cluster of these fruits, staring down at them with suspicion before taking one to squeeze between his thumb and forefinger. Still cautious, he wipes the juice on the grass under him and then begins to look around the garden.

There is no other way but to call it as such, and he freely explores it by remaining inconspicuous, just in case. He hasn’t even gone that far when he comes upon two frolicking rabbits. He doesn’t hesitate capturing and stabbing one between the eyes with a quick thrust of his dagger. The other almost gets away, but Gilgamesh is driven by pure primal instinct that made his movements the perfect blend of efficiency and desperation. He grabs hold of the rabbit and lets it writhe between his hands as he takes it near a bush where the yellow fruits are found. He shoves fruits down its mouth, uncaring that his thumb got bitten a little as he force-feeds the animal. He holds the rabbit tightly and waits.

A few minutes pass. Gilgamesh sits on his haunches with the rabbit still resisting his mighty hold, but it is very much alive. He finds a couple of vines again and binds the furry creature secure within its confines before deciding to hang it on a low branch from a tree. He is determined to see whether the fruits are poisonous or not. As famished as he is, it’s better to be safe than sorry—than _dead_.

He walks around the garden again and is pleased to see that this part of the forest seems to be alive with more animals. Why they stay here and never venture beyond the stream is odd, but Gilgamesh only takes note of it and for now. A stray rabbit had appeared yesterday afternoon while he and Arjuna are getting ready for camp so is it possible the animals are also in hiding as well save on certain times of the day? He tries not to thin about it anymore as he finds two more prey to kill and take back to the shelter by the boulders with Arjuna.

Thinking about the Indian prince makes his skin crawl. The vividness of Arjuna’s shared part of the dream leaves more questions than whatever Gilgamesh is capable of asking for himself. He couldn’t forget the image of his pristine white robes soaked in blood. It’s not the carnage itself that gave Gilgamesh pause however; it was the sliver of thought that accompanies Arjuna after he had brought down his sword and the sickening sound of a head rolling away. Somehow their consciousness have blended as one in that scene where Gilgamesh could see things in Arjuna’s perspective and experience the dawning realization the prince had when he realized that he had just slain a family member.

The King of Heroes had killed two other rabbits by now and finds his way back to the slope near the stream. He finds a sturdy branch to use as a carrier for the animals he had gathered before he examines the rabbit that consumed the yellow fruits earlier. It was still alive and kicking as it tries to free itself from the vines. Gilgamesh unties it and then grasps it steady in his hands. Its jagged heartbeat quickens, vibrating across its fur. He doesn’t even wait for another second before he twists the animal crudely until its spine breaks.

And then something weird happens.

Gilgamesh lays down the rabbit on the grass and plucks the yellow fruits from the bushes. He starts peppering the animal carcass with them, recreating the memory he knows belongs to him but could not fathom any sort of connection to.

The glowing fruits look more beautiful than the petals from his dream as they cascade over the dead rabbit, resembling more the jewels that Gilgamesh had also showered that unknown corpse with. He frowns as he gazes down on the imitation, furrowing his eyebrows as he tries very hard to recall why this is supposed to mean something precious to him.

With great abandon, he shakily lifts the broken animal in his hands and whispers, “Who are you?” He shuts his eyes as he remembers that the corpse in the dream is covered by silk sheets, obscuring its face. Gilgamesh cradles the rabbit closer, the image from the dream still fresh in his mind now as he knelt there in dirt and confusion. “How did you die and why?” He keeps asking as if answers are still possible at this point.

He whispers, “Did…” he pauses and then, “D-Did I love y-you?”

As soon as he asks it, his eyes begin to well up and leak with tears that are unwelcome, confounding him. Gilgamesh shuts his eyes and pulls the broken animal close to his chest. It doesn’t matter whether he remembers or not—the tears still came. His heart still bled.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

Arjuna eventually tries to talk to him. Gilgamesh had tried to avoid the prospect of conversation since he came back with the sustenance. He had even spent some time away from Arjuna again by laundering their clothes using the glowing fruits as a cleaning agent. But the prince speaks about the pact they have made yesterday before the blackness changed things. How dare he think that would still matter by now? The King of Heroes could have told him everything though. He could have opened up to Arjuna.

But Gilgamesh wishes to keep a semblance of strength in these trying times so he instead chooses to argue and provoke the other man.

“You’d like to risk us out in the open space?” the prince glares at him after he suggested travelling tonight in spite of the blackness that awaited.

“Better than staying put as sitting ducks,” Gilgamesh counters. He is far too exhausted to think more rationally.

“Don’t be a fool!” Arjuna grits his teeth, seemingly determined to knock some sense back into him. “Gilgamesh, you can’t honestly think that leaping into trouble without fully knowing what you’re going to face is the best option. To do that in our most vulnerable state—given the kind of control the blackness has—is just pushing it too far! Heed my counsel and let us forget this nonsense proposal of yours!”

“It shan’t remain faceless forever, prince,” Gilgamesh speaks up in a tone that hints resignation. “Whatever is out there, it will find us again.”

“Let it come to us!” If he isn’t angry before, Arjuna definitely is now. “I cannot believe I am hearing this from someone of your status, _King of Heroes_!” Fuming, his next words are said with derision and outright disgust. “Is it because of the shameful secret the blackness has exposed when it snagged your dream and showed it to me? Is that why you’re so intent on suicide? Because you can’t take the fact that I know now?”

“And what do you know?” Gilgamesh shoots a glare at the other man, baiting the prince to give him one good fucking reason to stab him.

Arjuna more than fulfills the request as he says, “I knew you loved the dead so much that you were willing to lose yourself into ensuring you will never know such love again because to move on is to diminish their death, or at least that’s what you think. And you were lost, weren’t you? You were lost for so long it’s almost a miracle you even found a way back.”

 _Motherfucking brat. You don’t know a goddamn thing. I am Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, GILGAMESH!_

“And what of you, Arjuna of the Pandava?” Gilgamesh remains impassive in expression, but his words are just as poisonous as Arjuna’s, intent on doing him harm with ten times the unkindness. “If I’m the one who doesn’t know the full contents of my memories, and only wishes to explore them hence my choosing to go forth into the black tonight—then you are the one who fears that to discover your own memories is to awaken a dormant part of you that you’ve always loathed and even feared. Tell me, prince…”

Leaning forward as the next words in his mouth rolls out of him, wanting nothing more than to burrow them deep into other man’s skin like talons, he adds, “…whose blood did you spill that day? And why—as soon as you wriggled your tongue to taste around the gaping hole you made upon his neck—did the blood taste familiar to you, almost as if it’s someone you must have known all along was your own kin!”

And so they fight. Nobody wins because none of this helps either of them.

The fury only makes Gilgamesh powerful again momentarily before he is once again reminded that he is alone in a broken place—alone and unable to carry the burden of his non-remembrance and internal discord. He cannot fight the one person who is experiencing the same conflicts so the King of Heroes lowers his dagger and utters, “I am not your enemy.”

Arjuna must have realized the same things as he did and answers back, “I am not your enemy.”

Once they have both calmed down, the prince inquires about the corpse in Gilgamesh’s dream.

“I don’t know who it was, but I feel as if I should.” The sorrow is real and hot in his chest and gut. “I feel as if I must remember.”

They settle down in their respective places next, facing across each other, feet touching. Arjuna wipes the blood from his wound using a wet lined while Gilgamesh watches him. They try to diffuse the awkwardness with jokes and a few false vanities before the prince finally announces, “I’m of the Pandava, offspring of Hindu gods. And you are of Uruk, offspring of the Babylonian deities. Our lineage and prestige should be enough motivation not to succumb to weakness and defeat. I’d be ashamed if something like this could break me. Wouldn’t you be the same?”

Gilgamesh does not answer. And then Arjuna adds: “I’m not going to give in to despair. I was not made to be that human.”

And the confessions just pour out of Gilgamesh. He feels—for the first time since coming here— _truly_ vulnerable.

“…in those dreams of gore and grief, what I did feel was real was… _you_ , actually,” he confesses yet again, chuckling to soften the seriousness of this revelation. “Not that dead person before me whom I decorated with flowers, not even the remorse and anguish I felt when once that person disappeared.” Electricity seems to crackle between them, in the breathing space they share together as they hide here behind the boulders.

“What I felt was real the entire time was your presence there. Upon seeing you spill the blood of your own demons, and after then you stepped forward to help me deal with mine, to make sense of the loss—those moments to me felt more real than what I’m supposed to remember in my past.” He pauses, almost out of bashfulness. “Do you understand what I’m trying to explain?”

Arjuna just gazes at him with an unreadable expression but his eyes never left Gilgamesh’s at all.

“I don’t know why we’re here and where this is but I think…” The King of Heroes tries his best to remain coherent as he goes on, “I think what’s important is that we’re the ones who ended up stuck together. It could have easily been others, but instead it’s you and me.”

“Do you really believe there is something to that?” Arjuna, of course, looks unconvinced, but he seems to be trying at least to meet the king halfway. “Do you think we’re here simply because of what we are?”

“Or what we have to become to endure this place,” Gilgamesh tries on a smile but it feels wrong in his face, “…to survive the black.”

The prince leans forward now, pressing his feet against Gilgamesh’s as if for emphasis and maybe even for solidarity. He is quiet for a moment, just gazing at the king with the most melancholic expression before he finally speaks up again. “Whatever happens, Gilgamesh—once the blackness gets a hold of us, you need to promise me something.”

With bated breath, Gilgamesh nods. It’s as if a dam could burst between them and wash them ashore to somewhere safe at last.

Arjuna nods back and says, “If I lose myself—you bring me back. And if you lose yourself—I’m bringing you back.”

It is an awful moment to share with another living person, one that Gilgamesh doesn’t want to forget.  It’s staring into a mirror and seeing his life reflected through someone else’s eyes—through Arjuna’s. And it’s beautiful and frightening all at once.

“On my honor as the King of Heroes,” he manages to say. This time the smile that appears in his face does feel more genuine than ever before. “You will not go to the black alone. And we will bring each other back.”

He may no longer be sure of the truthfulness of his memories and how valuable they have been to him; of the person he had buried and anguished for long ago in a lifetime that doesn’t seem to belong to him anymore.

But in this moment, Gilgamesh chooses to trust the feelings he has _now,_ and they were mostly for Arjuna—his _friend_.

That very word has some power to it somehow; a dull-edged sting he couldn’t explain, but Gilgamesh decides it’s the only way he could describe what Arjuna means to him. And so the King of Heroes vows to make sure that no harm will ever come upon either of them.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

**The Present Day**

 

 

“Did you want me as much as I wanted you?” The King of Heroes murmurs as soon as he breaks the kiss, running his hands through the tangle of Arjuna’s hair which was still drenched from the bath earlier. “I think I must have wanted you all along, perhaps even from the moment when you first touched me as if you are entitled to my skin. Do you recall?”

“I was paying attention to the markings.” Arjuna admits with a wry smile. “You’re so full of it, King of Heroes. Your beauty doesn’t faze me a bit.”

“You lying sack of bullshit,” Gilgamesh laughs freely and then with a strength that makes the prince nearly lose his breath, the other man rolls them across the other side of the cave until they landed into the other makeshift bed. Arjuna blinks in brief annoyance once the king is now the one lying on top of him, smirking in his small victory. “There is no reason to be so coy,” he murmurs into the tense closeness of their lips on each other, breaths mingling, “Why do you feel the need to hide from me anyway? To maintain an air of mystery? You don’t have to try so hard. I am already enchanted by you, Prince of the Pandava.”

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose, nor was I putting on a show for your ego,” Arjuna shoves the other man off him hard enough that Gilgamesh is on his back again, and the prince is once more pushing all his weight against said king. “It may surprise you to learn this, Gilgamesh, but not every little thing someone does is for your benefit or for your amusement. So learn to shut up or I’m going to stop indulging your sick whims.” He grips the King of Heroes by the throat, his hold light yet half-threatening.

“You forget your place,” the king glares at him, ruby eyes brighter even in the semi-darkness of the cave.

“Oh, I know where my place is,” Arjuna chuckles darkly as his other free hand tangles through the silken golden curls of the King of Heroes. “It’s right here above you with the dirt is on your back. This is where you belong as long as I’ll allow it. Do you understand now, Gilgamesh?”

“You’re just as prideful as I am,” the king shoots him another glare. “If you wish to bend me to your will, you have to do better than empty threats.” He makes some attempt to wriggle free but there is a mirth in his eyes that confirms that he wants to stay right where he is.

Arjuna now reaches down to grip one of the other man’s thighs so he can push them apart and the prince could position himself between them. The pooling sensation in his gut is almost overpowering but he controls it as he asks, “Is that a challenge, sire?”

“Will you oblige?” Gilgamesh is grinning widely now, pearly teeth showing.

“I would not deny Your Royal Haughtiness…” Arjuna captures the other man’s mouth for yet another searing kiss. He nips then bites at his bottom lip with pressure until blood bursts through. The coppery taste is like victory in Arjuna’s tongue.

 

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

**The Fifth Day**

 

 

The stars last night had put both men in such state of perfect ease that nothing could have prepared them for what happened next. 

Gilgamesh had been hunting earlier that morning, doing so alone once more since Arjuna claims that he wanted to take a few more hours to just rest. When the king came back to their camp at the two boulders, he had dropped everything so he could rush to Arjuna’s side. The other man had been kneeling, facing one of the boulders, his eyes open and uncomprehending.

Gilgamesh had tried everything to move him and talked to him to incite any kind of reaction or response.

There is simply nothing. Arjuna had entered a catatonic state for an inexplicable reason.

Gilgamesh remains beside the prince the entire time, checking for his pulse and temperature every now and then. Nothing is amiss.

Arjuna is simply kneeling on that spot without moving a muscle, his breathing normal—his eyes not registering anything.

After what seemed like two hours, he speaks at last.

The King of Heroes moves to face the other man, the anxiety and apprehension making him cautious and deeply worried for his friend’s welfare. “What is it? What did you just say, Arjuna?” He shakes him by the shoulder. “Arjuna, I’m here. I heard you say something. Please.”

 _Come back_ , he wanted to say but held his tongue.

The prince remains exactly as he is for the last two hours—but his eyes finally regained some form of consciousness as he meets Gilgamesh’s gaze. He says, _“What was sold can only be bought back through a new bargain. Another price should equal the last one paid.”_

Before Gilgamesh could react, Arjuna suddenly gives a violent jerk and then looks at him with open curiosity next.

“Are you back so soon?” the prince asks, giving him a small smile. He pauses upon noticing the expression of incredulity in Gilgamesh’s face, and asks again. “What’s the matter? Did something happen during your hunt?”

Gilgamesh doesn’t falter as he replies, “Nothing at all. Would you make fire for us while I prepare the food?” He stands up and goes to pick up the dead animals he had carried earlier from the spot he dropped them. Arjuna makes a comment about the fact that he must have overslept, his tone light and conversational as he gathers the coals and the stones.

The king tries not to stare at him although his mind is racing with so many questions about the behavior he had just witnessed. Still, he decides not to tell Arjuna anything, at least until he is sure that the event won’t occur again. If it does, then perhaps he could gather more information to find out what is causing it. So far it doesn’t seem to have endangered Arjuna severely; only make him unaware of falling into a catatonic state. It’s involuntary then, and definitely a conundrum that Gilgamesh knows he must solve all by himself. He doesn’t want the prince panicking. After all, Gilgamesh considers himself responsible for the two of them now. He is willing to bear more additional burdens for their survival.

He makes special note of the words Arjuna had spoken, memorizing them as he recites them in his mind as a new mantra. He imagines he is back outside, carving these words in his own native tongue so as to never forget them. They feel crucial and important enough for that.

 

 

_“What was sold can only be bought back through a new bargain. Another price should equal the last one paid.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The summary for this chapter complements the one in the first chapter: _Arjuna struggles to define the days that spin madly on, and the miles to walk with an unlikely ally by his side._
> 
> The reason why it took two weeks to update this was because for the first week, I wasn't writing any fanfiction at all. It was really only this week that I finally just sat down and began drafting the outline for Gilgamesh's POV which is a long time coming, and something I intended to deliver as an Easter egg of some sort where certain things about the wilderness are tackled, things that were not even present in Arjuna's POVs in the last six chapters. 
> 
> As you all can see, Gilgamesh had been keeping things from Arjuna all this time, which I feel is a necessary angle for his character most especially since he's also feeling more lost than ever, having forgotten Enkidu and the great weight of Enkidu's significance in his life. Gilgamesh is struggling just as hard as Arjuna is. Both are dealing with fundamentally different demons, and things are about to get more interesting once a collision between their inner lives happens later on.
> 
> As always, comments are much appreciated. Readers, I'm very happy that you're still keeping up with this story, and I would very much like to hear your own theories about the plot's mystery and other elements.


	8. The Debris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilgamesh tries to compartmentalize the worst of things for both their sakes while Arjuna is left uninformed.

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

  **The Fifth Night**

 

 

 

The starlight somewhat lessened the harshness of things in the night, as if the woods suddenly became less inclined to devour them while they hiked through paths neither is sure whether familiar or new. They never give up in assigning logistics to their travels though because these preoccupations are there for the sake of habit and posterity. Arjuna has his cartography whilst Gilgamesh has his Akkadian carvings on trees.

The routine provides a semblance of control, one they’d rather delude themselves into still having than admit they have ceased to be the captains of this journey. Gilgamesh has become more aware of this fact after witnessing Arjuna’s catatonia hours ago, and the words he had uttered during such trance might even be vital clues to a puzzle the King of Heroes hesitates to solve only because of certain reservations.

Could unlocking the meaning behind the words be their gateway to freedom? Or would unraveling it put them more in danger?

The Indian prince walks ahead of Gilgamesh now while they trudge through the forestry with the stars as their guide. He is carrying his trusted journal in one hand while a blade in another. Arjuna has kept that journal close all the time even when they sleep, much like earlier, as if it’s an acceptable replacement for a pillow or blanket. There is more to the illustrations now than just maps enclosed in those pages, that much the King of Heroes suspects, but he leaves Arjuna to his own devices for his companion is akin to a hornet’s nest one can’t just trample on.

The man in question is even more reticent than him, and values his solitude in a way that even baffles someone who is as self-contained as Gilgamesh. But he supposes that if Arjuna doesn’t even question it every time Gilgamesh goes out and hunts by himself, then it is more than fair to grant the same kind of privacy to the prince whenever he sketches other things in that journal.

In this hushed landscape of tree and shrubbery, even their secrets have secrets—all canopied by gloom against the glow of stars.

“I hope the nights stay like this. Nocturnal walks are certainly more beguiling that way,” Gilgamesh’s comment sounds cheery enough, but judging by the way Arjuna’s shoulders stiffen upon hearing it, the prince seems to believe otherwise. The King of Heroes keeps the distance between them as they march along, his eyes darting across the skyline briefly before directing them at Arjuna’s back. The prince’s white wardrobe shimmers under starlight, turning him into an apparition, a ghost hovering across the overgrowth.

“It bothers me that it’s so peaceful around these parts,” Arjuna replies, countering the Gilgamesh’s positive mood with a cynical one of his own. “There is still a matter of burned bodies back at that camp. We had entertained the notion that there’s a third party involved, responsible for the butchery, and that it could be stalking us. Perhaps now with our guards down, and with the stars out.”

“Then simply don’t let your guard down,” came Gilgamesh’s hurried reply. He worries for Arjuna, especially after what happened earlier.

_You don’t even know that you’re sick, and that you are more vulnerable than you know._

Arjuna offers no argument which was just as well. He doesn’t even pause to spare him a glance, and just continues to walk in front of Gilgamesh before flipping a page inside his journal, his head bowed. It is obviously a ploy to avoid further conversation which is just as well.

Mentally, the King of Heroes recites the words Arjuna has blurted out during his catatonic state, dissecting the phrase into consumable bits he can analyze while his legs take him to places during this walkabout. _What was sold can only be bought back through a new bargain._ That was the first line. What object was sold, and what manner of sale was it? _Another price should equal the last one paid._ Another bargain matching the same price as the first one—the concept makes little sense to Gilgamesh. How does it relate to their circumstances here in the woods?

Gilgamesh stops by another tree and engraves the symbol he has favored since the beginning. From the corner of his eye Arjuna halts, but he remains yards away, his stance patient but also restless. On his hand the journal rests, the sound of its pages flitting here and there rather rhythmic, contrasting the hollowness if not utter absence of other life forms here in the woods.

They find a cave soon enough just in time as the night melts around them, bleeding into a brightness of yellow mixed with blue and gray hues. The sun climbs through the trees, lending their leaves with warmth that in any other scenery would be gorgeous to look upon. But for the two stranded allies, it only serves as a reminder that yet another day has passed in their exile.

The cohabitation that is their lives in this place is becoming stifling as much as it is comfortable. Arjuna, in particular, looks restless. He glances at Gilgamesh’s way with a sharpness that is a tad bothersome. Is it possible he can remember being catatonic awhile back? To test it, the King of Heroes decided to ask, “What were you doing earlier while I was hunting for game?” He tries to make the inquiry sound as casual as possible.

“I dozed off, I think,” there is no noteworthy inflection in Arjuna’s tone. “Before that….I was sketching.”

“May I see?” Gilgamesh walks close enough to reach for the journal, but he doesn’t and yet Arjuna immediately snatches it away.

“It’s nothing important, just…private drawings.” Arjuna’s face registers tension. His dark eyes scrutinize Gilgamesh.

With a shrug of his shoulders, the King of Heroes decides to make light of the situation by commenting, “Nude pictures?”

To his relief, Arjuna softens his expression a little. A smirk appears in his lips as he replies, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Gilgamesh.”

“I hope at least you capture my likeness,” Gilgamesh grins widely now.

The reaction is exactly as he expects. Sputtering a little, Arjuna shots back, “D-Do not flatter yourself so! You may be blessed with good looks, King of Heroes, but if anything else, I’d much prefer a woman’s company.”

“I don’t doubt it. And you have ‘good looks’ yourself as well, prince,” Gilgamesh chuckles as he begins to take out the leaves and twigs he had gathered from his piece of armor. He is going to make himself a bed. Sleeping while sitting down against a boulder was really difficult so if he must sleep on the ground instead, he’d rather have something of a nest underneath him than just cold stone. “What do you miss most about a woman?” he asks because there is nothing else to talk about, and they both need a distraction.

“Just the outline of their bodies,” Arjuna responds curtly.

“You fancy an ample bosom? Curves in all the right places?” Again, Gilgamesh asks because the topic is harmless enough.

“Their scent,” Arjuna adds after a long pause. Since Gilgamesh is not looking at him and is busy making his bed-nest at the moment, he’s not sure what kind of expression the prince has on now. “The softness of their skin. The annoying decorations they put in their hair that sometimes get caught in the sheets. I miss those too. I like…I like the way they sound when you fuck them. Those squeals and moans. How pliant they become under your touch. How surprisingly firm and strong they feel even as they collapse into your arms.”

Now Gilgamesh is forced to turn to Arjuna. “Careful. You’re getting us both excited with your rather specific descriptions.”

“Are you aroused by the words I’ve weaved, King?” Arjuna is smiling with wicked intent. “Do you imagine yourself inside a woman now?”

“Now who’s being crass and suggestive?” Gilgamesh moves himself to lay on top of his makeshift bed. The leaves crunch under his weight, its sound like a snake’s hiss. Resting his temple on his knuckles, and begins to appraise Arjuna with a lingering look, he adds, “If you’re going to start jerking off, could you at least have the decency to find a more secluded spot in this cave?”

Unfazed, Arjuna opens a page in the journal but keeps his eyes at Gilgamesh. “I suggest you take your own advice.”

With another grin, Gilgamesh makes a move to reach down under him near his crotch area as if to dare Arjuna to watch him get down to business right there and then. The prince narrows his eyes now before he stands up and delivers a playful light kick on Gilgamesh’s stomach.

He doesn’t appreciate the joke, apparently. What a baby. “Stop being a dick and go to sleep,” the prince says with a firmer tone as he waltz back to his favorite spot in the cave where he can use a large stone opposite him to sketch more on his journal.

Gilgamesh merely lets out a short laugh before turning away from the prince. Once his face is hidden from his companion, the King of Heroes’ expression turns somber as he remembers that there are still questions he has to ask with answers that may just unravel either of them for the worse. His eyes dart across the cave’s ceiling, the faint illumination from the sunrise outside spreading sparingly across the stalactites.

Most of them are long and thick enough to grab hold onto and pull out; perhaps even fashion into weapons. Others are still short like newborns eager to burst forth into the world. He exhales once and watches his breath form into a mist, blurring his vision for a moment before he decides to move and lie on his back instead. He is still staring at the stalactites.

For a brief moment he entertains the notion of being pierced by them. The imagery feels familiar somehow, but he cannot place it. Usually it would have something to do with his memories which are still being repressed by this place. He supposed he should be angry, but he has simply grown tired of finding a way to retrieve the pieces back. So the King of Heroes closes his eyes now, and prays that sleep would come soon.

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

**The Present Day**

 

 

 

“Spread your legs wider so we can get this over with,” Arjuna commands the other male with some impatience. He can’t help the gruffness in his voice. Quite frankly, he’s been all shades of aroused, disturbed and angry ever since their first real carnal contact in the water earlier. These emotions have blended so well together that they might as well become pitiful substitutes with one another. Arjuna is angry because he is disturbed by the chain of events that had taken place since his banishment to this goddamn wilderness.

He is disturbed by how angry he has become of everything because he had always been more logical than this. At the moment, Arjuna is angry and disturbed because he is aroused right now. It is the ugliest feeling to ever have with the last person he should be feeling that way towards while they’re stuck in the most terrible place to even contemplate about fucking each other to begin with.

The asshole in question is laughing at his distress, eyeing him with delight as he answers, “I may not be a woman, but I’d appreciate a little wooing right now.” He is no doubt enjoying Arjuna’s conflict, and this playful side of the King of Heroes angers and disturbs him more than anything else. But Arjuna’s arousal isn’t impended by them at all either. In fact, he becomes even more determined to shut up Gilgamesh by doing things to his body that would hopefully wipe off that smug grin of his.

Gritting his teeth, Arjuna reaches out this time and pushes his hands between the other man’s thighs. “We don’t have time for soft gestures.”

Gilgamesh stares, his serpentine eyes sharper in the dimness of the cave. “There is never a middle ground with you, is there?”

Arjuna doesn’t say anything anymore as he successfully pushes away Gilgamesh’s thighs, providing him a better view and access to his cock. The prince then pauses so he can allow himself to gaze openly at the naked man below him.

Okay, _fine_. Gilgamesh is attractive. He had taken note of this from the very first time he laid eyes on him. But the king’s bad attitude and arrogant ways thankfully balanced his otherwise blinding beauty. And then he gradually _changed_ as the days went on; he became more _accessible_ , and _caring_ even with his goddamn hunting-for-two mindset and the unexpected voluntary laundering of their clothes. If only Gilgamesh stayed _disagreeable_ and the wilderness didn’t torpedo all of Arjuna’s efforts to remain _secluded_ in his own person, this wouldn’t be happening. He wouldn’t desire to imprint himself across the other man’s flesh in more permanent and hurtful ways; to claim the man as his own for tonight, and steal his breath with every kiss shared. Their surreal closeness and anticipation of sex are setting fire on his insides.

He is angry that he feels that way, so Arjuna roughly grips Gilgamesh by the hips and bends down to trail his tongue on the king’s skin. The semi-sentient red markings should have made him reconsider, but somehow tracing each marking splayed on certain parts of Gilgamesh’s flesh with his tongue feels disturbingly _amazing_. Arjuna’s gut coils beneath him as his hands now freely roam and squeeze every part he can get to.

“You’re so eager for this, aren’t you?” There is no hint of haughtiness in the king’s tone when he says it. His fingers rake through Arjuna’s hair as he brings him up so their eyes can meet. “But then again so am I. I can say it’s not the first thing I want from you, but it’s definitely a close second,” he smiles and it looks earnest enough to make Arjuna question it.

“What do you mean it’s not the first?” he lifts Gilgamesh’s right leg so he can fit himself between the other man’s thighs and rub his own erection against the other man’s. “What else could you want from me if not this kind of physical relief?”

As he speaks, Arjuna begins to rut against Gilgamesh, testing the friction and sensitivity of contact between them. He had some experience bedding another male, but it had only been with two men, and he remembered that he was inebriated in one. He leans away so he can reach for one of the armor pieces filled with the crushed yellow grapes. Taking a handful of its essence, he rubs it across his shaft first and then on Gilgamesh. The sound that escapes the King of Heroes once Arjuna’s hand wraps around his throbbing cock is rewarding. He couldn’t help but smirk.

“Forget I said anything and just—move your hand.” Gilgamesh says through gritted teeth as he pulls the armor piece closer, and then drops his hand inside. When he pulls it out, he is cupping a generous amount of the fruit’s essence as well, and he reaches to slather it on Arjuna’s cock as soon as he got a hold of it. The scent fills the air with something clean and refreshing, and its cool texture is a pleasant contrast against the growing heat of their skins. They stopped exchanging words now and focused more on jerking off each other.

Soon enough Arjuna collapses next to Gilgamesh on the makeshift bed, and they lay there together side by side as their hands matched each other’s pace until they found a rhythm that works best for them. Huffing in silence, they never looked away from one another, becoming attuned with each other’s facial cues and every bated breath. Arjuna watches the king through half-lidded eyes, very pleased to see that Gilgamesh’s lust is just as potent as his. For a minute he tries to imagine someone else that’s not the King of Heroes. He forces himself to create a fantasy of some woman, but the image won’t hold, not while Gilgamesh is near with his face flushed and with those parted lips begging to be bruised.

He surges forward to capture the king’s mouth on his, nibbling at his lower lip with a furious intent until Arjuna tastes copper again. Gilgamesh doesn’t seem to particularly care and instead pushes his arm underneath Arjuna’s weight so he can hold him by cupping the back of the prince’s head. Their kisses become more desperate and heady this time, their tongues wrestling for domination as their hands on each other’s respective manhood increased in speed. The cave amplifies the echoes of their moaning; the sounds hollow against the stones yet resonant.

For some reason they suddenly slowed down. The languid movements made the entire thing more intense, however, because Gilgamesh is kissing him with such leisure and indulgence that it leaves Arjuna almost in anguish. He is torn between forcing the other man to stop treating him this delicately, and leaning against the man for more of his soft touches and kisses. And since Arjuna has never been one to show such vulnerable displays of affection, the former idea won, and he ends up climbing on top of Gilgamesh to straddle him in place. He then grips the king’s wrists and pins them down on top of his head. “Stop doing that!” he demands although his voice cracks halfway while saying it.

The King of Heroes looks up at him with his crimson gaze more alive than before. The blood on his lower lip has coagulated, but the lip itself remains swollen. Meanwhile, the flush on his cheeks has spread across his neck and chest, making the markings stand out even more. His blond locks are tousled yet they still glisten like golden straws. _Fuck, he’s beautiful even like this, and it’s infuriating!_

As if reading Arjuna’s mind, the piece of shit smiles slowly at him, unfazed by the fact that he had been restrained. He doesn’t struggle at all, but merely starts to thrust upwards in a repeated motion that made the shaft of his hard cock brush against Arjuna’s. Still frowning, the prince never loosens his grip on the other man’s wrists but starts to rock back against Gilgamesh’s rhythm all the same.

“How much of the fruits do we still have left?” Gilgamesh asks in between grunts, and as soon as Arjuna does let his arms go, the king immediately grips his hip with one hand while the other wraps around their cocks, rubbing and squeezing them together.

“Why? We already have enough.” Arjuna leans down now and positions their legs in a way that would allow them to lock around each other. With their cocks straining between them, leaking with pre-come, Arjuna pushes back against Gilgamesh, his muscles constricting with every eager thrust, the pressure building up excruciatingly around his limbs, but he doesn’t care.

“You know why,” he answers with an impatient tone. After an interval of silence, Gilgamesh asks, “You want to fuck me, don’t you? You want to slip your cock inside my ass and make me beg for it while you drive deep and fast, don’t you?” A chuckle, shaky yet delighted. “You’ve imagined it, haven’t you? Of course you had. I have no doubts you did.” And there it was—that _smugness_.

Arjuna ends up seizing Gilgamesh by the throat now, “I should choke you for speaking such filth to me.”

“If that’s what gets you off,” Gilgamesh is grinning, hot breath on Arjuna’s lips. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it does.”

Arjuna winces and then gasps out as soon as he feels Gilgamesh reaching down between them so he can grip the prince by his erection as retaliation. In response, Arjuna taunts back, “If you wanted it so badly, you little slut, then why didn’t you spread yourself readily for me earlier when I demanded it?” He chuckles, eyes piercing the other man. “Do you want me to bend you over instead? Would you rather be taken like that?”

The King of Heroes says nothing, but a grin remains plastered on his face, goading him with the answer Arjuna already knows in his gut.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

  

 

 

**The Sixth Night**

 

 

 

They travel again the next night once it is ensured that the stars appearing in the sky had not been a mistake, and they could once more illuminate the path. It would seem that the darkness has stayed away again, but there is no guarantee how long before it comes back to snatch them yet again on their weakest point. Instead of worrying about it coming and for whatever purpose, Gilgamesh devotes his time during the next walkabout solving the enigma of Arjuna’s words, breaking apart its meaning to come up with at least a semblance of a definitive.

_“What was sold can only be bought back through a new bargain. Another price should equal the last one paid.”_

There was an item that was sold, but the item is not necessarily a tangible object. It could represent many things that can be bargained and bought. But what is the cost required to ‘sell’ it? Whatever it is, it must equal the last price that was paid. Did someone pay another to grant them passage to this hellscape? Was a spell procured to banish them here? Is it possible that one of them has done so, and simply could not remember? If that is the case, would ‘memories’ qualify as a way to pay the tribute? Did Gilgamesh and Arjuna know each other before their exile? Did they become enemies at some point and wish ill fortune upon one another? But how come they managed to retain knowledge of their identities? It would have been more of an absolute revenge if they have forgotten everything about themselves.

Or is retaining their identities and nothing else aside that a form of torture approved by whoever transported them here?

And how does this connect to the darkness or the massacre at the camp?

Why did Arjuna become catatonic and suddenly started saying such things?

No matter how many times Gilgamesh examines this puzzle and flip it in different angles, he can’t come up with an explanation that satisfies him. He lacks more details, but he does suspect that everything has to be connected somehow. This place and its eerie ecosystem—the dream bewitchment of the darkness, the burning of the bodies at that camp, even Arjuna’s condition—they all must lead to a single source.

And then there’s that other thing Gilgamesh did eventually remember right after the second dream he had about Ea and the old gods; one he knows he must disclose to Arjuna this instant in favor of their pact, or he might start losing the other man’s trust. After all, he’s already keeping it a secret that the prince just had mental blackout. He is never fully comfortable about doing that to begin with, really, but he hardens his resolve anyway, knowing he has to believe it’s for the best—for their survival. Arjuna is his _friend_. And every time Gilgamesh think of him as that, something in his heart grows warm, and the feeling feels precious enough to preserve.

“Arjuna, there is something I must tell you,” he speaks up after they took a short pause to rest and drink their ration of water.

The prince wipes his mouth with the back of his hand after he takes a swig and then offers the container to Gilgamesh. “Yes?”

“There is another memory I can recall,” he begins and then waits for the other man’s response before continuing.

“What do you mean?” Arjuna’s eyebrows furrowed. “A memory? Do you mean back when the darkness last came upon us?”

“Yes,” Gilgamesh admits. “I’m sorry if it took me a while to tell you about it, but only because I couldn’t make sense of it.”

“I see,” the prince adjusts his gloves. They catch Gilgamesh’s eye. He hadn’t worn those things in a while, and they haven’t been washed at all. Under the starlight, they look clean enough, but not as spotless as they used to be. Even the overall condition of Arjuna’s garments seems less pristine if the King of Heroes will be honest about it. Gilgamesh would have taken the time to launder the gloves if only Arjuna asked. The prince seems to have noticed that Gilgamesh is looking at his hands, so he lowers them to his sides, as if suddenly self-conscious.

He inquires, “So are you going to explain? Maybe I can help you figure out its meaning.”

“I remember that I was…summoned by a mage of some sort. I’m not really sure about the finer details but I think—I think I was supposed to fight a war on behalf of that mage.” Gilgamesh stops abruptly, frowning now. Speaking it aloud didn’t help at all. It only confused him again. He looks at Arjuna for his reaction, hoping somewhat the other man can offer something.

“Summoned?” Arjuna looks just as baffled. “How could that happen? You’re Gilgamesh of Uruk. No one summons the King of Heroes. Who else would have that kind of power if not the gods who have sired you? And this mage you speak of—is he or she a mere human? How could anyone mortal ever subject you under their own will?” He laughs now, finding the idea obviously absurd. “No, that’s just impossible.”

A smile now touches Gilgamesh’s lips. “It’s good to hear a vote confidence from you, Pandava prince.”

“It’s been a wretched few days and the struggle might worsen again,” Arjuna remarks, “But what you said before the darkness took us again for the second time—after we had that small disagreement—do you recall?”

“I’ve said a lot then,” Gilgamesh blinks at him. “You need to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

The prince smiles himself, and it softened his eyes in a way that Gilgamesh could tell by now is rare for a man like him. “That whatever happens, we will bring each other back. That maybe we were meant to be facing this together. That it couldn’t have been another pair of men who have to endure, but only us.” An inscrutable look akin to affection rises in Arjuna’s dark eyes. “Do you…do you still mean that?”

He steps forward now, seemingly unaware that he is even doing it. Gilgamesh stays on his spot, but he welcomes the way Arjuna almost closes the distance between them like this, and smiles wider. He replies with a reassuring tone, “We will not let each other go to the black alone. I swore it on my honor as King of Heroes.” He lifts a hand to his chest, “I will never forget that.”

Arjuna maintains the smile for a few seconds before he nods curtly and turns serious again, but almost as if he is forcing himself not to keep smiling. “Then we understand each other in that respect at least.” His companion turns his back away. “We should keep trekking, Gilgamesh. Sunrise will be coming in an hour or so, and I still have to map some new areas we passed by for the journal later.”

“Arjuna?” the king steps closer himself now, a hand almost reaching out to touch the other man’s shoulder but he resists.

“Yes?” Arjuna glances only over his shoulder, waiting.

_I don’t want to lie to you, but I don’t trust what this place is doing to you either._

“You are…a decent man,” he says quietly instead.

Arjuna chuckles as he starts to walk. He sounds almost _embarrassed_ to hear Gilgamesh compliment him like that. “Don’t start getting sentimental on me now, King of Heroes,” he gives him another amused side glance, “After all, I’ve always preferred you with more steel.”

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

**Present – Earlier that day**

 

 

 

It’s the next morning in another cave when it happens again.

This time though Arjuna doesn’t stay still. Instead he begins sketching non-stop in the journal as if possessed by madness. His nails darken impossibly as he holds the long piece of charcoal against the page, brutally committing an image into the paper as if everything depends on it. It is only when the charcoal dulls down until nothing is left but ashes on his fingertips when he ceases drawing. Afterwards he tosses the journal aside and stands up. His posture is relaxed yet his eyes are unfocused and his breathing shallow.

Gilgamesh doesn’t interfere the entire time. There is no point. He only has to observe now.

It takes another hour before Arjuna regains his senses back, but even then he starts pacing around the cave, restless on his feet, as if a part of his psyche is trying to fill the gaps of the lost time, but will never truly have that piece of himself back. Gilgamesh pretends to sleep because it is all he could do. The helplessness is all he could afford, at least for now. Finally, Arjuna reaches his spot on the cave, and the king feels compelled to speak up, all the while pretending nothing is amiss. “Get some shuteye, Arjuna. Don’t make me tackle you to the ground.”

How natural he sounded when he utters those phrases. How disgustingly calm.

“I don’t even know anymore,” Arjuna’s voice is hushed but in the stillness of the cave the sound thrums against the stones.

“What are you complaining about now?”

“Going home. I don’t know where that even is anymore.”

Gilgamesh lies on his improvised bed, his nest of leaves and twigs, as if everything is still intact, while Arjuna sits on his haunches beside him. His hand is on the prince’s thigh but there is no pressure in his touch. He didn’t grasp or squeeze that spot but he allows his hand to stay there, steady and uncaring of what it could mean for them this time. And then Gilgamesh remarks, “Home doesn’t have to be a place.”

“Home could also be a person,” Arjuna offering that conclusion comes as a surprise to him, but he doesn’t comment on it. But then Arjuna suddenly drapes himself all over Gilgamesh now, arms enveloping him in something akin to an embrace but also not. He says something about that, but he isn’t actually paying attention to his own words and is more concerned for his companion’s mental state.

“I don’t know if the pieces of what I’m remembering from my life are factual. And I think that the… _emotions_ that are supposed to be associated with them don’t fit.” In a way, this has to be the first time the prince even admits vulnerability, let alone disclose it.

Gilgamesh wants to hold him closer, but resists the silly urge because it wouldn’t feel right, so he pushes him away, though not out of unkindness. He did it so he can examine Arjuna’s face closely. A hand cups the prince’s chin as soon as Arjuna is sitting upright again, facing the other man. Gilgamesh is also sitting now as he inquires gently, “What ails you?” _Is there at least a part of you that knows what happened before?_ It took a lot from him to keep up this façade, to neutralize his expression. _How do I help you?_

The prince pulls his hands to himself this time as if doesn’t want any kind of physical contact from Gilgamesh anymore.

“There is a power here in this place that seemed to be messing with my mind, Gilgamesh,” he explains.

_I know, my friend. I’ve seen firsthand what it’s trying to do to you. If it happens again, I promise—you’re not going to the black alone._

But he doesn’t say that, of course. He lies instead. “It could be that or possibly something more mundane than you think,” he tries to be comforting as he gestures a hand towards his bed, “Lie with me and put aside your anxiety. Perhaps the warmth of another person’s body would offer some solace to your troubled thoughts. We have another travel ahead of us after all so I need you strong and well-focused.”

Arjuna just shakes his head, still looking lost and sullen. “We should stop walking for at least a day. You are right. I admit that my mind is wrought and I need more rest than I’m letting on. It’s not as if this wilderness will thin out. What a wondrous idea that would be, though.”

After a short pause, he adds, “We’ve already made camp here in the cave, and it’s in a rather perfect condition to house us. Later at noon, I could hunt for food and you can keep watch. What do you say, King of Heroes?”

“If you need rest, then let me hunt,” Gilgamesh stretches himself on his bed again, keeping his eyes on Arjuna the entire time.

“As you like. Thank you, Gilgamesh.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he answers with a chuckle as he taps a hand at the empty spot where he expected Arjuna to take his place.

The prince does lay next to him now at least. He is warm and real and weighed down by shackles he doesn’t even know have him imprisoned.

The thought is sickening, and before Gilgamesh could stop himself, he asks. “How many women shared your bed as your wives, Arjuna? Surely you had several.” It is a continuation to their conversation the previous night, so he supposed it wouldn’t be out of context to indulge in such talk again if it can offer another distraction.

“I don’t remember,” the prince hastily answers.

“Any siblings?” Gilgamesh drapes an arm around Arjuna now but manages to keep a small distance between them.

“Yes,” he doesn’t elaborate, however.

“I’m trying to figure out what you remember and what you can’t,” Gilgamesh explains, “—especially what you refuse to remember.”

_Why did you fall apart yesterday and again today? What were those mysterious words you have uttered? What did you draw?_

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arjuna turns his back against Gilgamesh now, shoving away the arm that is cradling him.

A long pause.

And then Gilgamesh had to ask, “Do you want us to copulate, Arjuna?”

It is such an inappropriate and random thing to even ask, but Gilgamesh doesn’t know how else to offer intimacy to his friend at a time he might need it the most—as if there is even another kind he could give that Arjuna would not reject. But Gilgamesh knows it is also because he is a selfish man doing his best to appease the guilt that is beginning to build up. _He is in crisis and you hide the worst from him_ , a conscience he doesn’t know he possesses until this moment whispers to him. _How could you say this man is your friend when you deceive him?_

Arjuna interrupts when he replies “Yes.” That quick response indicates he has thought of sex with Gilgamesh too. “But I don’t think we should.”

“I agree,” The King of Heroes tries to sound nonchalant. “Sex will only be a complication.” _I’ve already corrupted this alliance far enough._

“We must always strive for simplicity for the sake our survival,” Arjuna recites and then lets out a yawn. He slides just a few inches away, and adds, “That’s not to say that this is not a flattering invitation, Gilgamesh. I have eyes after all, and your beauty is definitely made to be seen.”

“So you have been looking all this time, eh?” He tries to make light of the situation and fails. Still, he pretends it’s going to be okay.

Arjuna doesn’t answer anymore. Gilgamesh waits there for at least twenty minutes, just listening to the other man’s breathing, savoring the contact of their bodies—the steady rhythm of their heartbeats—before he slowly gets up, trying to make his movements as laconic as possible so not to make any noise. A few leaves crunch underneath his weight. Still, the prince remains immobile.

His next actions marked with certainty, Gilgamesh walks over to the spot where Arjuna left the journal unattended.

He only has to turn it over after picking it up to see what is etched on the page.

The face is only familiar because he and Arjuna had shared dreams, and so the recognition is viscerally instant.

“You are…” Gilgamesh traces a finger on the image, “…Karna.”

Yes, that’s the name of the brother Arjuna had slain. He’s the face that Gilgamesh is looking at now and remembers from the dream. He felt the sword burrow on his neck when Arjuna struck it. He had tasted the blood in his own mouth when Arjuna drinks it up. Did the last part even happen or is that a cruel hyperbole? He doesn’t care. This is someone Arjuna probably loved, or at least would have if he didn’t kill him first.

The King of Heroes carefully takes out the page, making sure it’s neatly done so not to leave any remnants of the paper that was torn.

He starts to collect his bearings needed for the hunt today, like his favorite dagger with the ivory handle, and a piece of his golden armor to carry the dead animals in. He also takes the journal with him so he can look through more of its hidden horrors.

As soon as he walks out of the cave, he begins shredding the sketch of Karna, scattering it in the winds. There is no reason to be haunted by the ghosts of their past anymore. He will not let this burden Arjuna again, not when he is already dealing with so much.

“He is my friend,” Gilgamesh says aloud with only the wilderness to listen. “And you will not hurt him again.”

 

 

 

 

 

 _**debris**_ (n) _The scattered remains of something broken or destroyed; rubble or wreckage._

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I procrastinated for so long, I know, because I got caught up with Fate roleplay at twitter since last month, and even more so then. But I will never abandon this story since this is a gift to someone after all, and it'd be a damn shame to quit halfway on a project you have dedicated to someone. Besides, I like these characters a lot and as a pair, and the plot concept has been engrossing for me to write about as well. I hope this newest installment justifies how long it hasn't been updated. I only started writing again five days ago, and this is the first of my pending fanfiction here in AO3 that I chose to get back to, of course, because I still have enough inspiration and drive to keep going with it. 
> 
> Once again, reviews from readers are appreciated because I do need some words of encouragement every now and then. ESPECIALLY NOW with Gilgamesh making choices for himself and Arjuna that could have disastrous consequences later in the game! I know it's been a slow burn but finally things will IGNITE! Anyway, thanks for reading my story!


	9. The Walkabout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arjuna and Gilgamesh, and the law of diminishing returns.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

“We have to go back there,” Gilgamesh had told him.

They lay together on a nest of dead leaves and twigs, their bodies slicked with sweat and each other’s essence, as they await the stars.

Arjuna had turned his head slightly and looked at the King of Heroes. He then looked past him and across the cave’s opening where the sun is almost hanging low. After another minute, he asked, “Where do we have to go back to exactly?”

Gilgamesh had not looked at him. His stare was fixed on the stalagmites above. Arjuna kept staring at his face nevertheless, tracing the curve of his nose and the plumpness of his lips—his high cheekbones, and the tousled locks of his golden hair.

It only was after he leaned closer and dragged his mouth across the king’s red markings again, just to feel the faint electricity on his tongue because it is such an incomparable thrill to do so, when Gilgamesh answered him at last.

“The camp,” the words spoken were a chill in the wind. “We have to go back and solve that massacre.”

That was two days ago. Looking back—as he grasps on Gilgamesh’s arm, with his nails clawing at the other man’s skin—Arjuna realized he never should have agreed to it. His fingers are slipping, and not even the horror and anguish in Gilgamesh’s eyes and his obvious regret about all of this could make Arjuna hold on much longer. Eventually, he will have to let go.

He has to give up at some point. That’s what the wilderness wants.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

They argued about it for a while. Arjuna brought up all the reasons why they couldn’t go back. They had already traveled at least six kilometers away from the camp itself. They don’t have time to retrace their steps since the point of trekking in the first place was to find some sort of exit so they can escape this place for good. They might only encounter something dangerous on their way back, or once they get to the camp. For every reason he cited, the prince felt his agitation grow. He felt claustrophobic and condemned but he couldn’t make sense of these feelings. 

What’s worse is that Gilgamesh never said anything. An unmistakable weariness mixed with vague sympathy just crossed over his features. He looked more like a parent listening to a child vent out. How does he always do that? His mask of composure was always perfect. This caused more stress on Arjuna because there was a chasm growing between them again, but Gilgamesh noticed his apprehension easily enough, so he reached for the prince and began appeasing him with his hands and lips. Shockingly, Arjuna never pulled away.

Their kisses immediately became more urgent and intense in less than a minute, and so they end up entangled once more on the makeshift bed. This time it wasn’t because of lust that they were in each other’s arms again. It was something akin to desperation and yet not quite; a plea for sanity, a delay to make the necessary decision in order to savor the pleasure of their bodies uniting again for completion.

Sex at this point was the only escape they were allowed to have.

Arjuna joined Gilgamesh in the stream where they thoroughly cleaned themselves, not just from their carnal endeavor but from the overwhelming fatigue in their minds. Even as they bathed, they stayed close together, no longer bothered of how much they need each other’s warmth and tangibility even though neither of them would admit aloud for they are still in many respects proud and self-sufficient men.

By sunset, they cooked together the birds Gilgamesh had already sliced and dipped in spices which he found somewhere during his hunts. The heat and new flavors of a meal they had prepared definitely replenished Arjuna and lifted up his spirits. He sat there opposite his companion with only the torn half of what was once Gilgamesh’s armor cape covering him.

The other man was positioned the same way, his own half tied securely around his waist as he ate in silence. Whenever he met Arjuna’s eyes, his own would soften, a frightening sight, but the prince held his gaze back anyway. They had shared everything within only a week of co-habitation from the most basic needs like food and shelter to sexual release—but there were still words they could never say, and secrets they’d rather keep not because it was selfish, but because it was preferable to think there were still portions that should be left as theirs alone.

“Why do you think we should go back there?” He had to ask. Gilgamesh must have a reason.

“It’s because of you,” the King of Heroes replied, pausing only to take another bite and chew. When he finished, he added, “I saw the drawings.”

“They’re just sketches I do when I’m bored,” Arjuna tried to defend them, but even he sounded unconvinced of his own counter argument.

Gilgamesh knew this too, so he just shrugged his shoulders, obviously didn’t feel like arguing about it anymore.

As soon as the last remnants of the sun dispersed in the sky and was replaced by a pale grayness that signaled the advent of dark, both men had washed again by the stream, dried themselves and put on their newly laundered clothing. Gilgamesh handed Arjuna his gloves. He had washed them too apparently. For some reason the prince could only stare down at them. It was only after Gilgamesh took one of his hands so he can fit a glove in it that Arjuna jolted just a bit in his grasp, but relaxed mere seconds after.

Again, there weren’t any words to convey, but Gilgamesh allowed his fingers to linger on Arjuna’s left wrist, his forefinger resting on the pulse. It was an odd moment, but it wasn’t unwelcome anymore. But Arjuna still pulled away first and began picking up his share of the baggage (the bag with the knives and leftover meat they wrapped in linen, a ration of water to drink), and turned around to see Gilgamesh doing the same thing.

He was the one who carried the journal this time. Arjuna didn’t care. Maybe he was indeed unraveling because of the images he kept seeing in his head, and the compulsion to put them all down in those pages may have been a symptom of something sinister. The fact is he felt like an incomplete person lately. A few gaps here and there—weird time jumps he pretended he never noticed—all the more confirmed he is no longer in control a hundred percent of his own constitution. He can’t think about it now. All that matters is that they’ve reached a decision and were now heading back to that camp. Gilgamesh would guide them with his innate tracking skills, and the grueling cartography they have collaborated on for days. Arjuna is already exhausted just thinking about the miles they would have to retrace again, but he didn’t complain.

For what it’s worth, the prince trusted Gilgamesh, mostly because he had no other option.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

The moon looked like a cracked egg above them. The shape is anything but perfect though still fairly circular. Some of its whiteness, however, faded across the dark clouds, as if a thumb had smudged it that way. Looking up at it was only giving Arjuna a mild headache, so he took interest in the dotted skyline of stars instead. They were just as bright as ever, but Arjuna read once in a book that the light from stars takes so long to reach this world that they might have already been obliterated out there in the galaxy.

That could only mean that all we are ever seeing now are still-frames from the time they were once alive; just their old photographs because in reality, these so-called beautiful celestial forms which have inspired poems and songs from humanity have already collapsed onto themselves, becoming black holes—these dead fucking things everyone believes will be shining forever.

Nothing is ever perfect, not even sons of deities, and that includes him, especially Arjuna of the Pandava.

They were halfway through reaching a mile when Arjuna stopped on his tracks and told Gilgamesh he wanted to sleep. The other man never argued and so they found a nearby large tree to lean on and use its massive canopy of leaves as a shade.

Without being asked, Gilgamesh fitted himself behind Arjuna’s back, an arm readily draped around the prince. Arjuna didn’t care either way.

He was once again feeling more alone than he’s supposed to, and in this newfound solitude of his mind, he felt imprisoned.

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

His sleep had been dreamless. It had been that way since the stars came about. Arjuna has begun to feel irritable. 

By daybreak they were already trekking again. Gilgamesh was ahead, inspective the tree trunks he had carved before to ensure they were still walking the right path. Arjuna trailed behind, his steps languid as if the burden he carried weren’t only limited to the provisions he had on his body. The other man never said anything about it once, but every now and then he would pause to wait for the prince to catch up, and then grasp his hand, squeezing it with some sort of reassurance. Arjuna obviously hated that, but only because he felt a little guilty he couldn’t be just as considerate as the King of Heroes has certainly been. The softness in his gestures are jarring and making Arjuna nauseous.

When it was noon, they stopped for food and drink, but only after they undressed and had sex again. Gilgamesh seemed reluctant about it at first when Arjuna initiated the deed wordlessly, but soon enough he became just as enthusiastic about going at it once more. They brought enough of the yellow grapes anyway. The substance glowed in Arjuna’s fingers as he coated them with it before positioning his digits to slide inside Gilgamesh’s passage. They found a ground with shorter growth of grass, and then placed Arjuna’s angarkha on the pasture so they could fuck on top of it. Both men were definitely becoming accustomed to each other’s bodies, and the new knowledge and skill they respectively learned about one another somewhat turned into a competition of who gets to make the other come first.

Gilgamesh even pinned down Arjuna this time as he got on top and rode the prince ruthlessly, groaning like he had been starved of cock for ages, slamming himself down over and over against Arjuna. Soon, every layer of their skin felt so tight with sweat and steam that the burst of their simultaneous orgasm stole their breaths like a punch to the gut. Everything imploded as their nerves were shot to hell. Gilgamesh painted cum into their abdomens before he collapsed heavily on top of Arjuna as the prince’s throbbing cock spilled hot seed within him.

Afterwards they cleaned up the mess as much as they could, and then ate. Communication between them had been all the more minimal that Arjuna had started to think sex was the only conversation they want to have at this point, and just as well.

Both men took a short nap then and woke up probably three hours later. Gathering their bearings at once, they started trudging through the familiar pathway of the wilderness with hastened steps this time. It took them two hours to reach the very first stream they have discovered on the third day of their exile here. By then the sunset had already caught up to them.

Gilgamesh offered to show Arjuna the way to where he found the bushes of yellow grapes and hunted the rabbits. Apparently, they have to swim across the other side of the stream which was fine since they had to wash themselves again anyway. But first, Gilgamesh placed the journal inside the bag so it won’t get wet. They both didn’t bother stripping anymore and submerged themselves into the water readily, holding onto the pieces of golden armor they’ve been using as carriers for a while now as they glided across carefully.

They made themselves at home there, deciding that they can postpone the travel for tomorrow since they only have three more hours of journey before finally reaching the camp. So they just lay there half-naked among the peculiar yellow fruits which resembled fireflies once the evening rolled by. Their clothes hung together in a sturdy branch. Gilgamesh broke the silence first and asked, “Do you think we would ever leave this place?” His tone suggested that there was another question implied: _Do we still even want to leave?_

Arjuna pretended not to hear that implication and instead replied, “I need to know who tortured and maimed those people.”

His statement is veiled with another one as well, and it said, _I need to know for sure it wasn’t me_.

The King of Heroes lay on his stomach now so he can stare at Arjuna’s face. Once their eyes locked on each other, he said, “It matters not to me, but if you seek answers, know that I will always have your back because you are...” he trailed off, almost purposely, “….a decent man, like I’ve said once before.” His wine-dark eyes seemed to have a life of their own now.

“You don’t really know that for sure now, do you, Gilgamesh?” the prince manages a grim chuckle as he reached out with one hand to brush away the other man’s hair from his forehead. “In fact, you and I have been in each other’s dreams, and we have seen firsthand— _felt_ firsthand the brunt of our tragedies. So how can you say that you will take my side when you know what I have done?”

It would be better to keep these things barricaded, but what is the point of doing so when the deluge can't be stopped from pouring out?

He paused abruptly so he can sit up now, but his gaze still remained on Gilgamesh. “And how sure are you that the feelings you have for me—this concern and camaraderie I have observed growing in you for me these past few days—were simply not borrowed things?” The prince shook his head now. “I don’t think I’m truly the one you feel such sentiments for. I may only be just a replacement for that person you lost long ago.” He withdrew his hand from touching the other man. “Don’t you think so too?”

“It matters not,” Gilgamesh’s tone was even softer than before.

“It does to me,” Arjuna countered though not harshly. “I’m not going to play surrogate to your ghost. I refuse to.”

“You’re not that, Arjuna. Not to me.” Gilgamesh’s expression looked almost pained this time.

"Then what am I?” The prince’s inquiry sounded more like a weary challenge. “What else could I possibly be to you?”

Gilgamesh didn’t even hesitate. “A friend.” He sat up now as well and leaned closer until their noses were touching. “You are my friend.”

The way the King of Heroes had declared it—accompanied by the tender way he pressed their lips together afterwards—Arjuna almost dared himself to believe it. But he doesn’t. He couldn’t. Arjuna's mind could only handle so much emotion, and his heart could hold even less. *****

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

And here they are now, caught between forces that push and pull all at once. 

Gilgamesh had betrayed him. Arjuna knew it, but he felt nothing for the other man but pity. Instead of anger, he only pitied him.

He could see more clearly now that even if the emotions Gilgamesh declared to feel for Arjuna may have been counterfeit in some way, there is still a genuine quality to them, which was why he wouldn’t let go right now even though he probably should. Their arms linked together have begun to bleed because their nails have burrowed deep enough to leave wounds. Still, Gilgamesh holds on.

“Don’t you dare!” his red eyes look even more terrifying now that they are bloodshot with intense fear and rage. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

Arjuna isn’t sure if the King of Heroes was addressing him or the thick tendrils of black ooze clinging at the lower part of his body.

“Remember our deal!” Gilgamesh was screaming, gnashing his teeth. “Remember we vowed we won’t let each other go to the black alone.”

With that statement, he finally stops trying to pull Arjuna out of the nightmare’s clutches, and instead wraps both arms around him.

“You fucking fool,” Arjuna spits out as the black turns to corrode Gilgamesh as well, curling its diseased tendrils on both their bodies now, squeezing them in a vice grip as the earth beneath their feet gives out, and sucks them down a ravaged, bottomless hole.

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THE END.**
> 
> Heh, I'm just fucking around with you guys.
> 
>  ***** _Arjuna's mind could only handle so much emotion, and his heart could hold even less_ is a direct quote credited to the Arjuna roleplayer Blythe from twitter. This line he used during a smut scene between his Arjuna and my Gil just haunted me, so I wanted to use it here, even if I wasn't the one who came up with it. It's just so perfect!
> 
> This is a shorter chapter because the next two are going to make your collective heads spin! If this chapter feels a little fragmented, well, it's only because Arjuna has officially become an unreliable narrator.
> 
> Again, comments are appreciated. I have a feeling you all might need to vent out.


	10. The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a certain thing one saves for a rainy day before everything else gets taken away.

      

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

 

 

 

“A dream is already a world itself but it’s not a solid mass which hands could clutch or a pair of feet could stand on,” the incredibly pale boy before Arjuna explained, holding away his smoke-pipe in a rather gracefully languid manner.

The area where the two of them have been staying in was vacant except for a large couch the pale boy had been sitting on from the moment Arjuna entered the premises. The walls around them were composed of translucent paper over latticed frames of wood which acted more as sliding doors. Behind the pale boy and his couch is a large golden folding screen with several joined panels, and whose surface bore intricate designs of calligraphy and cherry blossoms. The décor of this place seemed rather unusually fragile to Arjuna, as if this was merely a house of cards that could collapse at any moment if and when strong winds blow past it. It wouldn’t though, the prince knew, because he could sense there is magic here whose presence is unlike anything Arjuna has ever encountered before.

So he just sat there on the matted floor; his posture straight and alert, with knees pressed together and gloved hands on his lap. Eyeing the pale boy in silence, Arjuna looked comfortable enough but the truth is he was more concerned about getting out of here than staying put. He was offered no choice though, it seems. The pale boy continued speaking, though he sounded as if he wasn’t addressing anyone in particular.

“The sheer force of will that a person has can sustain a dream, but only for a while before it dissolves into nothing more than a memory, and even then the memory would be difficult to retrieve.” He paused only to puff more of his thin and elegant smoke-pipe, the tip of which smoldered bright orange for a moment before it turned into ash again. There was enough mist polluting in the room due to the boy smoking, but Arjuna didn’t say anything. He was only a guest after all, and the other was his patron.

A short pause hovered pointedly between them, but the disquiet of the entire room quickly buried it away. And the boy kept going, “Upon waking, the dreamer abandons the world he has created in favor of the other one he can have interactions with, where other people much like him have important lives to live beyond the realm of fantasy found in dreams. After all, a dream ceases to exist once a dreamer wakes up.”

Arjuna shifted his weight a little, the only visible response that testified to his growing impatience. He never once stopped staring at the stranger before him. There was a kind of beauty to the boy that was disarming.

“But there are some dreams—some worlds—that continue on after they have been abandoned by their dreamers….” The boy stopped again for another huff, this time he took longer savoring it as if enjoying the way it probably burned through his lungs.

Arjuna used that opportunity to interrupt, “And how does all of that explain why I’m here?”

“You are inside a fluid time stream where pasts, presents and futures co-exist together and age and longevity cease to matter,” the boy answered by not answering. “I am a shopkeeper. This is my shop. You are here because you were always meant to come here.”

His tone was gratingly serene as the rest of his movements are limited only to holding close and holding away his precious smoke-pipe. The mismatched eyes of golden hue and cerulean blue have been captivating to look at though, so Arjuna focused on them as he demanded with more assertiveness now why he had come upon this place—this…shop.

“You are here because you have a wish,” the boy—who was probably both young and old or neither—gave the saddest and most enigmatic smile Arjuna had ever seen on anyone’s face. Another few seconds passed before he finally shifted in his position on the couch, draping his free arm over its ledge. The long robes he wore, which resembled more of what a woman would wear with its delicately floral designs and mixtures of colors, was loose around him, giving off an impression of a child wearing his mother’s clothing. “And that’s why you found this shop. This one has outlived its dreamer a long time ago, and I am simply one who occupies it because one could say…I never had dreams of my own.”

Ignoring that last part, Arjuna only says, “A wish?” His tone sounded annoyed and tinged with incredulity.

“Yes, you have a wish,” the other echoed, swinging his thin pipe lazily so its tip points at the prince. The gesture felt almost accusatory but also not. The pale boy with mismatched eyes stood up ever so slowly as he introduced himself now. “I am called Watanuki. The characters of my name written in my native language spells ‘April First’. It is also the beginning of springtime.”

His smile never once lost the sharpness of its sorrow as he added. “And I happen to be in the business of granting wishes.”

 

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

 

 

Arjuna stumbled upon this peculiar shop yesterday although that time marker in itself was something he assigned for posterity’s sake since time doesn’t exist normally here, as explained by the shopkeeper later on. Also, Arjuna having “stumbled upon” this place is a rather generous term. It was really more like ‘collapsed halfway through the enchanted entrance of the wish shop, starved for weeks and barely alive’.

He couldn’t remember how many years it had been since he and his brothers had been exiled due to a handful of misunderstandings and overall poor management of politics, but Arjuna accepted this fate because it at least granted him the opportunity for solitude and self-reflection which he had sought his entire life, free of any kind of bondage from people and their often ridiculous expectations of him. But no matter his independence and strength of spirit, he was still more flawed than divine and soon enough he found himself without provisions and his health began to deteriorate. This was the first time he had been touched by a sickness of the mind he could not explain.

After walking for miles and miles without a sense of destination, his feet just gave up beneath him and he hit the ground. When Arjuna opened his eyes to see where he had ended up in, he only saw two girls around ages ten or eleven staring down at him with cheerful smiles. Strangely enough, they have managed to lift and carry him together. Their voices were shrill and soothing all at once, marked by excitement. Even in his terribly fatigued condition, the prince caught a few of the words they uttered between their giggles. “A customer”, they chanted. This was followed by “feast” and “bath”. Arjuna only blinked since his eyesight still had some dark spots. He was just a dead weight with arms and legs that wouldn’t respond to basic command at all, and yet these girls had no problems getting him in and laying him into a tub at that.

The girls undressed him carefully, but as they peeled off his garments it also felt like they were pulling away his second skin, but Arjuna was far too exhausted to even complain or wince from the slight pain. They hummed melodies (if not also chanting what they are doing) as they scrubbed and cleaned him thoroughly. These girls’ grins never faltered once, as if describing the process of what they are doing to him in an unnervingly singsong way was all the fun they ever needed. He didn’t respond except lean in to their touch which was nurturing. After he had bathed and was dressed in long purple robes, the girls left him for awhile in an empty room with a single mattress and pillow on the floor. They returned soon enough carrying dishes filled with delicious food. Arjuna started devouring everything, unconcerned with etiquette and his pride.

This pair of wonderful children stayed by his side without being prompted to or asked. One of them brushed his hair while the other massaged his back. Arjuna never had sisters, but he supposed this would be what it must be like, and even for a short while the contentment he experienced in their presence dulled the permeating suffering that still haunted him. Once Arjuna’s hunger had been satiated and his thirst quenched, his body still had to recuperate from the exhaustion, so he dropped himself onto the mattress and was soon fast asleep. He did take notice that the girls had also positioned themselves on the floor on either side of him, and enfolded him in a warm embrace.

 

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

 

 

The sun was shining on his closed eyelids, its heat prickling his skin. That was when Arjuna jerked up, gasping once as if seized by panic. He realized that he had been moved to a different room where a sliding door was open. It allowed the brightness outside to flood in. He squinted and spotted the lawn where the two girls are playing. One of them was holding a hose and shooting water at the other. And then there was some creature jumping around—something black with long ears and a blue gem on its forehead—an animal that was nothing like Arjuna has encountered before, and one that certainly talks. It seemed as if it was having a good time and its boisterous laugh mingled with the girls’ own as the three of them didn’t even take note that Arjuna had been awake for some time now.

He watched them in vigilant contemplation for another five minutes before he decided to get up. That was when he felt it. It was very subtle at first, soundless. He feels a steady vibration on the soles of his bare feet like a million insects were crawling on the surface of the floor except there aren’t any. Whatever it was, it feels _alive_ , as if this entire place was breathing and has a heartbeat. Most of all, it feels as if it’s conscious that Arjuna was inside it, and it’s waiting for the prince to acknowledge that they can sense one another. Without hesitation, Arjuna reached for another sliding door and walked out. Every step was muted but the house itself thrummed in a hushed response, its presence brushing past Arjuna as if it possessed hands and was now running them across the long, loose robes the prince was clothed in.

As he crossed a threshold, he was shocked to find the girls there, standing eerily as if expecting him to get there all along. They weren’t wet. They should have been since they were playing outside with the hose. It couldn’t have been different girls, could it? Before he could turn away as if to go back to the room he had been sleeping in just to check the lawn and make sure, the girls have now closed in, peering up at him with big eyes and matching smiles. Arjuna only had to blink for all of this to happen. The girls never moved their feet to approach him at all. They had provided him comfort and company just last night, but now Arjuna began to find them absolutely creepy and invasive.

“Are you ready?~” “You must be ready~” “Master will see you now~” “Only if you are ready~” “It’s time to get ready~” “Master must see you~”

Their voices were still melodic as they took turns uttering each sentence. They were also putting gloves onto his hands. They were _his_ gloves, the ones Arjuna had always worn. Their pristine whiteness was almost blinding. Did they clean the rest of his clothing then? He was about to open his mouth to thank the girls but then they began tugging at his arms forcibly, giggling as they do.

The prince barely resisted. There was an innocence to these girls that made him restrain himself from reacting violently in their clutches, and not that he particularly wanted to. Besides, his own feet are moving across the floor without his mind permitting them to. A force was guiding his every step, and Arjuna wanted to understand what kind of enchantment he was put under, and who was responsible for it.

Soon enough, the girls have let him go as they stood before a sliding door that looks a lot different than the others. It had black butterfly designs strewn across its paper walls which are scarlet in hue. They opened it for him while standing on opposite sides.

Arjuna’s body coiled as if bracing for an attack.

There was none that awaited him. Instead, tendrils of smoke which had an odd fragrance seeped through, like a chain urging him to step inside which he did. Once he entered, he heard the door behind him close, then the hollow thump of the hurried footsteps as the girls left.

Arjuna was immediately transfixed by the person before him.

On the couch, in overgrown robes with multiple specks of colors and floral details, is an incredibly pale boy smoking a thin, elegant pipe. He looked across Arjuna once, appraising his appearance with his unsettling pair of mismatched eyes. Using the hand that was holding the pipe, he gestured for Arjuna to sit and the prince found himself lowering to the floor easily. There was that vibration again, and the unmistakable throbbing between his eyes as if something was drilling onto his skull. It wasn’t painful but it was more noticeable now, especially with the boy.

It was definitely the boy who was doing that to his head. Without preamble, he began to speak, “A dream is already a world itself but it’s not a solid mass which hands could clutch or a pair of feet could stand on…”

 

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

 

 

“You can grant wishes?” 

“This is a wish shop,” The boy who called himself Watanuki proclaimed, “And you are only here if you have a wish that needs granting.”

Arjuna didn’t say anything because he was right, but he mistrusted the offer just because it was unexpected and seemed too easy.

As if reading his mind, Watanuki says, “Wishes are only granted through an equal exchange. The universe must maintain a balance. Your compensation or payment for a wish will depend on the wish itself.” A pause. “Are you prepared to make that bargain?”

“I don’t know,” Arjuna replied with sincerity in his tone.

“You don’t have to hide,” Watanuki glided towards Arjuna with an unhurried, almost hypnotic, pace. “State your wish, Prince of the Pandava.”

This time, Arjuna frowned. “You know who I am?”

“How could I not recognize royalty and one famously heralded at that?”

“You’ve been inside my head,” the prince’s tone was slightly accusatory.

Watanuki didn’t even deny it and just nodded. “I apologize if I probed with my telepathy. It’s not often voluntary, and your mind is hardly quiet.”

“I know,” Sounding defeated, Arjuna’s eyes lowered to his gloved hands on his lap. “There is unrest in me that cannot be overcome at times.”

“You were in a palace,” Watanuki responded in that same tone that makes it sound as if he was far away and not close by even if his body was there before Arjuna. “The palace is empty, and you are surrounded by books, and the people have all gone and you didn’t care. You were happy.” Another pause. “You’ve been having this dream for a while, have you not?”

“Yes,” the prince only answered once, his eyes still downcast.

“And your wish?” Watanuki stepped closer, the movement barely discernible as the hem of his long robe slid across the matted floor.

“I wish…” Arjuna looked up once at Watanuki, seeing through him, staring at the golden folded screen behind him instead. His eyes trailed across the pink petals that splattered it. “I wish,” he repeated with a more resolute tone, “I wish for a solitude so complete I would have ties to no one, to belong only to myself.” Saying it aloud seemed to have unburdened him somewhat. He relaxed his posture.

Watanuki nodded as he muttered, “Yes, that is what your heart yearns for. But the price to achieve it, Prince Arjuna, must be equal.”

“I shall pay it with whatever means necessary,” Arjuna met Watanuki’s eyes now.

The shopkeeper who said he can grant wishes looked rather disturbed now, blinking rapidly before he forced himself to maintain another neutral, semi-bored expression as he replied, “I’m afraid that the price exceeds anything that you can provide. To wish for absolute solitude, though achievable, requires a very steep payment, one you might not—”

“Tell me,” Arjuna began to stand now to meet the boy’s height. It wasn’t a display of intimidation but rather a show of common ground. “What do I have to do to gain it? If you say that you can grant this wish as long as I pay its price, then please be forthcoming, Watanuki the wish granter, and disclose the full details of this bargain.” The desperation gnawed at him fully this time.

Watanuki raised a hand up as if surrender while the other that was still clutching his smoke pipe gestured sideways as he explained, “Absolute solitude requires a momentous act where all connections must be severed, Pandava prince. It means not only alienation but a permanent exile.”

“I’m already in one,” Arjuna countered, his gloved hands clenching beneath him.

“No, this exile I speak of is one that would entail having everyone you have ever loved and who have ever loved you…” he trailed off for a second and then added, “…no longer become beholden to you. Do you understand what that means? It not only means forgetting them or them forgetting you. It means not existing in their lives or them ever existing in yours. It also means never to become Arjuna of the Pandava again but _something_ else entirely. Would you so willingly sacrifice what you have and who you are now?”

“I don’t need to hear your personal opinions,” Arjuna was growing annoyed. “I just need to know it can be done and whatever has to be done."

Watanuki exhaled; a sign that he was disheartened by this argument. But he replied nonetheless with, “Very well. I shall tell you.”

“And?” Arjuna readily said, his impatience more pronounced now.

“You need to erase yourself,” the shopkeeper said, tone glum, “To do that, you must offer pieces of you that others have valued the most.”

His eyebrows knitting in contrition as he struggled to process this, Arjuna asked. “How do I start?”

“The payment would require a series of these offerings, beginning with…”

Watanuki used his free hand, exposing his palm, “…your precious Agni Gandiva.”

The silence that pervaded the room next might as well have been death.

“You want me to surrender my holy and divine weapon to you?” Each word had emphasis, a weight, as if Arjuna was punctuating with fists.

“As one of the prices you had to pay,” Watanuki was calm, but his mismatched eyes looked restless as if he didn’t want to be doing this bargain in the first place. That sliver of self-doubt was absurdly comforting to Arjuna somewhat. It reflected the way his own determination faltered, and his hands clenched so tightly they were trembling now. The shopkeeper continued, his tone appeasing. “It is only the first price. There will be others, and each payment would get even more intimate and therefore more difficult to offer.”

“I see,” Arjuna nodded stiffly. His body was going numb.

“You can still back out,” Watanuki said. “But once you pay me with the first price, the bargain will hold, and can never be undone.”

“Nothing will break it?” Arjuna challenged. “Not even another bargain?”

Watanuki looked more thoughtful now. He lowered the hand which was reaching out for Arjuna’s weapon a while ago and rested its knuckles below his chin as the smoke pipe he was clutching with the other was pulled near his chest. Finally, he said, “What was sold can only be bought back through a new bargain. But another price should equal the last one paid.”

Arjuna narrowed his eyes as he found himself taking a step forward. “What does that mean?”

“It means that before you complete the payment for your wish, another bargain to nullify it must take place, and it had to pay back whatever you gave away. The thing is,” he paused, looking into Arjuna’s eyes meaningfully. “Somebody else has to do it. To intercept an ongoing bargain, another person must make another deal and begin a new process of payment that equals the offerings you have done so far.”

“Another person…” Arjuna felt dread creeping in for the first time since the conversation started.

“A wish made by another person to destroy yours,” Watanuki’s mismatched hues looked a tinge darker now on both orbs. “But because your wish entails grave sacrifices, this other person must be willing to meet the gravity of the price you claimed you are prepared to pay.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It had never happened before, but it doesn’t mean it can’t happen one day…and soon, in your case, if somebody does interfere.”

“And you shall allow that?” Arjuna took another step forward.

Watanuki didn’t seem to mind the gap between them being closed. His posture is lax, eyes slowly closing. “I am merely the one who facilitates the wish-granting process. It is the universe who takes note of the balance. It is indiscriminating and free of any bias or sentiment. Everything is equal in its eyes, and every wish is valid and will be attained if the price is met.”

Arjuna stood there absorbing what had been discussed, trying to make sense of everything including the other things that were left unspoken but were implied nonetheless. He slowly raised his hands up, staring the white gloves as if he could lose himself in their color. _Erase myself. Become something else._ _It is my only shot to happiness, isn’t it?_ Finally, he looked at Watanuki again before he shot out his hand, summoning his sacred bow in a mighty flash. With a solemn gaze now, he brandished it before the wish granter.

“You are certain?” Watanuki’s question was posed as a rhetorical one, and Arjuna had to wonder if it’s some sort of protest too, testifying to his disapproval of this transaction from taking place. Instead of being warmed by his concern, the prince only found it an unnecessary delaying tactic. He wants only solitude—not another person who will care about him, so fuck this.

With his tone firm, he declared. “I have made my choice, Watanuki. I will give up pieces of me no matter how much and how long it takes.” 

He held the Agni Gandiva with both hands now, presenting it like it was merely a fresh kill from the hunt. His chest burned with this last parting, but he steeled himself because he can’t back out now. “My wish will be granted,” he muttered with finality.

 

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

 

 

He should have been more surprised to find himself inside the wish shop again, but Arjuna isn’t. There is no time.

He feels massively depleted of energy and strength but he manages to push through the doors of the place and shout out Watanuki’s name. Has he been freed by the clutches of the wilderness? He could remember this place very well—the conversations with the incredibly pale boy—the bargain they struck—the price he must pay to attain his wish. He immediately starts laughing in hysteria as his knees give out under him.

_What am I doing? What have I done? How do I go on now?_

“Where is Gilgamesh?” he whispers to no one as he presses his face into the floor as if in worship, feeling degraded and running out of options.

“You brought something pesky with you, my prince.”

Arjuna whirls around and spots Watanuki standing there by the open doorway. Before he could respond, the wish granter speaks first, “The warding of this shop will keep it at bay but I’m afraid exorcising it is impossible. It’s a life force I have never encountered before.” He reaches out to help Arjuna stand, and the prince holds onto his arm as he tries to right himself again. And then Watanuki wraps his hand around his wrist as he tugs him outside. That’s when Arjuna sees it again—the black ooze, curdling like spoiled milk across an invisible shield surrounding the shop. Taking a few heavy steps forward, Arjuna glares at the abomination, the anger taking hold.

“Where is he?! Where did you take him?!” He snarls and demands again, “You let him go! Were you not only supposed to take me?!”

“Arjuna?” Watanuki places a hand on his shoulder. “Look at me.”

“I don’t understand any of this!” Arjuna faces Watanuki, his expression anguished. “I remember now. I remember being here and giving you the bow. And then somehow I was in the wilderness and someone else was there too!” He narrows his eyes suspiciously at Watanuki. “Did you do this? Were you the one who banished us?!” He grips Watanuki by the collar of his clothing, almost tearing the fabric.

Those mismatched eyes speak the truth. They plead for him to calm down and listen to reason. Watanuki is not responsible for this and instead of that being a comforting thought, it only left Arjuna in despair. “But who could have done it?” He releases the shopkeeper now, “And why?” He slowly turns to look at the ooze again. “This doesn’t make sense. I don’t know…what to trust anymore. It feels as if I’m unraveling…” he gapes at Watanuki again, his eyes brimming with fresh tears. “Am I being erased? Is this what my wish entails? Is this what absolute solitude feels like?”

“No,” the other man approaches closer, his hand brushing on the side of Arjuna’s arm, keeping the touch light. “Your wish has not been granted yet. There are still pieces that must be given for its completion.” He frowns deeply now, staring at Arjuna with a painful mixture of pity, sorrow and helplessness. It’s an ugly look and Arjuna has to avert his gaze from it. And then he hears Watanuki say, “I don’t know how to help you.”

Blinking the tears away before they could fall, Arjuna just nods stiffly and tells him, “It’s my own burden to carry. I don’t expect help.”

“You never had,” When Arjuna looks at Watanuki after he says that, and the saddest smile again crosses the shopkeeper’s features. “And that always been your greatest agony, isn’t it, Prince Arjuna? You look at the world and think it can’t understand you, or love you for the contents of your soul, including the grimy parts.” His hand reaches to cup Arjuna’s cheek now and this time the prince doesn’t look away from those mismatched eyes. “And you have come so far and yet gained so little. As I’ve said once, there is no reason to hide—not from me.”

Watanuki lowers his hand and clasps Arjuna’s instead, gripping with tenderness uncharacteristic for a stranger who had only met him once. “I have been inside your head and though I may not have access to your heart, what your memories and thoughts have shown me in our brief contact seemed to paint me a picture of a man who’d rather choose his aloneness than embrace that there may be things—people—that could prove themselves sweeter than solitude.” He pauses, swallowing something in his throat. “And you have made a wish you could never undo now.”

“Are you asking me if I regret it?” Arjuna asks, his voice soft. “Because I don’t think I should. I had made my choice a long time ago.”

The black ooze spreads like an arc across the wish shop’s shield as if taunting Arjuna by trying to catch his attention. The prince spares it a glance, but his anger has now been replaced by a more productive emotion and he plans on holding onto that until he accomplishes what must be done. He looks at Watanuki again. “You told me once when I came here for the first time that there are dreams that could outlive their dreamers. The wilderness I spoke of—and that… _blackness_ above—is it that also the same kind of abandoned dream?”

“Perhaps,” the other man answers truthfully. “And this wish shop is only a temporary post for you. You are still inside that wilderness, I believe. I sense its hold upon you and I could not break through that barrier, especially not in my limited state,” he manages a small, joyless chuckle. “It already latched onto you and I’m sorry but you’re the only one who can figure out why and for what purpose. There might be a way to be free of it, and that is by continuing on with the bargain you have struck for your wish.” He shakes his head. “Still, there is no guarantee.”

“I figured as much. Do you think Gilgamesh is still also trapped there? But for a different reason that mine?”

“It would seem that this is the case. He might have his own demons to battle.” Watanuki inclines his head to the side now.

“Then I must go back for him just in case he can’t do it alone. We made a vow,” Arjuna steps back, letting Watanuki’s hand go. “The truth is that he betrayed me but only because of his belief that he was trying to protect me from myself. That’s what happens when you care about someone sometimes. You end up doing more damage to them even if you never intend on doing them harm.”

Watanuki looks as if he was going to contradict this statement, but instead he opts to ask, “Arjuna, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but who is this Gilgamesh, and why are you so determined to come back for him anyway?”

“Because—in some strange twist of fate—he _is_ my friend,” Arjuna declares with a grim acceptance. “It’s the only explanation I can think of—because if he didn’t mean that much to me at all, then it never would have hurt me when he betrayed my trust.”

“I understand,” When Watanuki says this, it almost feels as if he truly does.

“Besides, until I complete all the payments to make my wish come true, I remain Prince Arjuna, third of the famed and noble Pandava brothers, the Rewarded Hero,” he manages to say this with a smile at least. “That is who I am now, and I must honor it before one day I cease to be this person.” He gazes back intently at the black ooze which seems to be attuned to what is happening below it and is now merely perched up there, waiting for Arjuna’s next move, as if it knows all along what must happen next.

“I can lower the ward just slightly so you can burst through it,” Watanuki offers before he sighs deeply. “That is what you intend to do, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Arjuna readies himself, his body pose for the attack. “If anything else, at least I have received better clarity in being here again—” he glances behind him and gives Watanuki an appreciative smile, “—in seeing you, granter of wishes, and hearing the sincerity in your words as well as being aided by the goodness of your intentions.” He widens the smile. “Thank you, Watanuki. You have been of great help.”

The shopkeeper smiles with some joy now for the first time. “The honor belongs to me, to have met a hero of your status.”

Arjuna’s smile dims a little but he doesn’t say anything to that. He turns back to the black ooze and as he prepares to leap—

“Listen!” Watanuki interrupts and Arjuna whirls his head around, blinking in surprise. “When you find your friend, you two must channel the one who presides over sleep and dreams, for he is the personification of the realm of dreamtime itself and its ruler. He is known by many names and titles, and I’m sure you would recognize his form one way or another for he crosses over all cultures of the world.”

Arjuna has heard of this tale before. They stare at each other for a few seconds before they finally take their positions. Watanuki raises his hand and makes a swift gesture as if cutting some thread. The air changes around them, and Arjuna then propels himself upward to meet the blackness seeping through the small crack in the shield, and fearlessly welcome its nightmare embrace.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My version of Kimihiro Watanuki from _xxxHOLIC_ is the one I have taken liberties in for my stories [_Frequency_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4518810) and [_Entwined Hearts and Other Glands_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5825149). When Arjuna first meets Watanuki, it was around the time of _Frequency_ , and when they meet for the second time, it was during _Entwined_. The first fandom I started writing officialy for AO3 is _xxxHOLIC_ , and I was very happy with the series _Snapshots_ that included the two major stories I mentioned. I took a long hiatus from _Entwined_ since May of this year, but I plan on coming back to it because it is an important work, but the _Fate_ fandom definitely has a hold on me still. So, as a compromise, I decided to do this crossover which I think works well enough. Watanuki's role in Arjuna's character arc would become more prominent in a way. This wouldn't be the last time he appears. Let me know what you guys think! :)


	11. The Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Losing someone you love is the oldest story in the world.

* * *

 

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

This is how Death found him:

On the dusty floor in a shriveled position next to the corpse of the one he deemed as his first friend if not the last.

There had been no one else in the throne room for many days and nights except this grieving king. No one dared to invite themselves as an audience, not even his mother. The goddess Ninsun still lingered outside the room though, alternating between pacing anxiously or weeping in guilty silence. Gilgamesh would not even look at her anymore or at least never again in the same fervent devotion and trust he used to shower her with. Ninsun after all failed him when she merely stood by as the gods brought upon severe punishment to his friend Enkidu.

Death had walked past the defeated goddess in question on the night when she finally made her way to the throne room. Ninsun only raised her eyes to see what kind of visitor would bravely face Gilgamesh in his worst state and was rendered speechless upon recognizing who it was.

"Your tears will not repair your relationship with your son," Death spoke to her in a tone bereft of real compassion as she stopped a yard away to meet Ninsun's bloodshot eyes. "You have spoiled him too much that he kept refusing to answer to no one but his own whims. Look at what his self-belief had sowed and reaped." She stopped momentarily as she took a few steps closer to the goddess.

With a milder tone now, Death also added, "I sense that the proud Urukian king has questions he is far too afraid to ask you or your gods-kin whom he perceives now as enemies. His grief is so potent that I'm surprised he hasn’t found a way to turn it into a weapon, knowing your son's reputation and if it truly does precede him." There was something caustic about the way Death phrased that.

"His reputation?" Ninsun looked almost angry but easily curtailed her expression into one that is humble and compliant out of respect for the Mother of All Beings she was addressing right now. Ninsun explained, "Gilgamesh was a lot of things but he was still just a boy. He needed to be tamed and so the gods blessed him with Enkidu. I have never seen my son so complete as soon as he embraced Enkidu as a man would a wife, and even more so because Gilgamesh finally learned to love someone else more than he loves himself."

"But his companion is gone and I am here to take them," Death looked at Ninsun's earnest face and tried to discern if she had anything else to say on the matter. "Any creature that develops a sentience can dream but that means they also die. It just so happens that a lot of you die first before ever learning to dream. And this Enkidu, this lump of clay who aspired to stand equal with your blessed son, they are the one I came for. I do, however, expect some form of resistance from the king."

She nodded at the doors behind Ninsun. "Let me pass and I guarantee to do what you should have done since Enkidu's passing."

"And what would that be?" Ninsun willingly stepped away, her eyes now downcast in an expression of subservience.

"I am Death and all creation eventually, inevitably, comes home to me." She reached out to push the doors open but not before she answered the goddess. "And for this brokenhearted king, I will be the mother you have failed to be."

 

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

 

 

After Death left Ninsun to reflect on her shortcomings, she glided into the throne room with the air of someone who had seen enough sorrow of mortal beings that it left her more disconnected with their despair rather than sympathetic. Death along with her other siblings had taken an anthropomorphic form ever since the first beings in the Universe somewhere across galaxies were born, and she had been there too when they died. She will be the very last one to close the door on the universe once that ending comes, but it's been so long since her awakening, and she was a little fatigued by now. She just came from the kingdoms of Nile River days ago where her essence is worshipped by pharaohs and their subjects, lavished by treasures and complicated rituals that Death found somewhat indulgent if not completely pointless.

Uruk was another place in Earth she had to visit. This was just another errand.

And there was Gilgamesh who abandoned his throne for the unclean floor, who nestled his friend protectively as if he thought that they were only holding their breath and would rouse from slumber as long as he waited. Death stood there just yards away from him, her dusky eyes lacking any warmth as her demeanor remained clinical and business-like. She dared not speak just yet, recognizing the sanctity of the moment. Endings were always difficult for the bereaved and in this case it's even more complicated because this king hailed as Gilgamesh of the mighty and prosperous Uruk is a man who had never been denied of anything before.

This was his first loss. She supposed she could go easy on him.

"If you cannot stand, you should at least sit. You are royal and semi-divine and grief should not be able to consume you to a point that you cannot even find strength to face me."

Gilgamesh didn’t speak for a long time. He remained where he was, grasping on someone who will never come back. After a while he did respond but without meeting the eyes of the one who was speaking to him. He simply uttered, "I don't know who you are."

"But you do," She crossed her arms, her stance even more rigid than before. "You hear the name in your head. You feel the truth in your bones. You've known me all your life, but I'm also the one you never wished to meet. Stand and face me, Lugalbanda's heir. I am the ending that you dread yet one you can never escape from."

And the proud king started screaming but not directly at Death. "I HATE IT! I HATE THIS! I DON'T WANT ANY OF THIS!"

He did let go of his friend at last but started tearing his royal robes instead. The shrill sound of fabric being torn filled the otherwise eerie silence of the throne room. "Why? Why did I have to be born as less than a god? Meanwhile the divine mocks me by showing me exactly how little it matters that I live while the one I love rots. Look at me!"

He was staring at his hands now, clutching the torn cloth of his robes. "What I merely have is a half-mortal vessel of flesh and blood that can and will expire. I will die..." he trailed off, gasping for air as if getting choked by it. He coughed violently and continued to weep like a lost babe "…I will die alone one day and be forgotten like some common man without worth! I HATE THIS!"

She just watched him without blinking, an arm now raised so she can cup her chin on the heel of her palm. Her expression looked almost sullen, as if she even cared. She had heard such soliloquies before so she had not felt inclined to offer him any comfort. That was not part of her duty.

With unhurried ease she began to approach, her dusky eyes hardening just a bit as she answered, "Cease your complaints, Gilgamesh of Uruk. It is futile to believe yourself otherwise exempt from my reach. But I did not come for you tonight. I come for the one they call Enkidu, the clay fashioned by the deities of Babylon to be your equal. They breathed life into Enkidu and now their creation was declared naught. They are not returning to the land of the living, Urukian king. Best that you step away and let me take them to eternal rest."

“And what if I don’t?” It didn’t sound like a legitimate challenge. His tone was a whisper, almost as if he was attempting to put up a fight for the appearance of it but was clearly far too sad and fatigued to mean what he said. He simply resumed clinging onto his dead friend, inhaling the rot as if it was a pleasant aroma. He seemed to be completely uncaring of the maggots that have began sprouting out of different sections of the body he so desperately wanted to preserve just for a little while longer.

Death frowned at his stubbornness but perhaps she also admired it. To her ageless kind who are more paragons than anything that could be considered humane or attached to anything, Gilgamesh was yet another pitiful child with a limited perspective due to his privilege and ignorance of how ultimately powerless he is in the grander scheme of the universe. She should know better than to meddle in the affairs of expiring creatures, but now she approached him again until she was standing directly above him.

Her black gown reached down the floor, sheathing the surrounding surface like dark waters that never ripple at all. Death gazed down at the broken king before she felt inclined to raise her hand, moving closer and closer until she was petting the golden crown of hair that was rough like yarn. The rich color of gold somewhat lost its luster, but she kept touching his hair as if this was the best consolation she could offer.

For one deemed as the Mother of All Beings, Death has never been particularly maternal.

 

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

 

 

She stayed with him for another day. The plan originally was to take away Enkidu’s essence with her and go to her next appointment, but Death instead chose to linger in the palace of Uruk. Perhaps she could make an exception for this case. Perhaps it would prove to be more productive if she allowed the bereaved to make his own choice about whether or not he should let go of the dead. Whatever reason she may have, she dwelt there with the king to witness his denial, concealed in a corner next to the throne itself like a forgotten ornament.

Another day passed and Gilgamesh had migrated back to his throne at last but all the while still carrying the cadaver of his beloved. Death never interfered or said anything even as a civilian or someone from the royal court approached to seek advice or solution for a task or problem at hand. Gilgamesh never gave his counsel; he had failed in that role because he saw no more meaning in governance. Ninsun came back only to handle the affairs of her son, serving as temporary regent. It was also her way to appease herself from the guilt her son would not absolve.

Death also heard the hushed whispers from cynics about how completely Gilgamesh had severed his ties to his kingdom; that he might as well sit atop a pile of ashes now than a throne. It would suit him better, they said, seeing as how useless he had become to his subjects.

His heart only belongs to the dead now and nothing would ever bring him back.

On the third day of Death’s visit, Gilgamesh was still sitting mindlessly on his throne when he happened to turn and look at the face of his friend. For the first time—but much to his horror—the king acknowledged the state of his friend’s decay. Enkidu’s face had already caved in. His nose became a home to maggots while those eyes have sunk like empty craters. Strands of what used to voluminous green hair had withered away, falling off from the scalp like shredded rope. Death wore a mild expression while she watched the king’s reaction to this.

Gilgamesh trembled with a fierce understanding that he had delayed what was inevitable all along. Still, he never spoke to Death directly and merely summoned for his mother and servants to take Enkidu’s body away. He stepped out of his throne with a weakened gait and for a moment it was hard to tell which one of them was the corpse because the king himself looked as if he was ready to crumble and never be put back together again. If Death ever felt anything, she surmised this could have been heartbreaking.

 

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

 

 

The funeral arrangements were odd, to say the least, and this opinion was coming from Death herself who had experienced all kinds of customs creatures have practiced to honor the dead, not just in this world but also with other planets from billions of galaxies.

But what Gilgamesh did that day was _unnerving._ To build a large monument and dedicate it to his fallen friend right at the heart of the city was one thing. It was a measly effort compared with the civilization from the Nile River. However, he also had the entire population of Uruk weep and grieve quite _literally_ for the memory of his friend. Men, women, children—elite or slave—mourned the king’s companion as if they were kin and not at all a stranger. And Gilgamesh’s subjects—even though they have accused him of abandoning his kingship—had given their whole beings into expressing this consuming grief. Death had felt the sharpness of its authenticity.

The earnest tear-stained faces of the people of Uruk were an incomparable sight to behold.

Did they not ask the gods before to punish Gilgamesh for being so greedy and lustful with their wives and daughters? And here they are, offering their most genuine expression of sorrow to a king they must have loved more than they realized. And it occurred to Death that perhaps they knew that it was Enkidu who had _tamed_ Gilgamesh, who molded him into the king they have always dreamed and believed he could be. To lose Enkidu is to lose a part of Gilgamesh and Uruk that have flourished. Death had heard the exploits of Inanna, Great Anu’s entitled daughter and goddess of war, who almost laid siege to Uruk by unleashing the Bull of Heaven. Who stood against this mighty horror but Gilgamesh and Enkidu themselves? The friends have protected Uruk and restored the kingdom as partners.

It should be no surprise that when people remember Enkidu in name, it would be because they are exulted as a hero.

Death was just a yard behind Gilgamesh as he stood above his palace’s terrace, watching over the thousands upon thousands of grief-stricken citizens who are on their knees with hands outstretched. They bemoan and cry to the heavens how the gods were cruel to rob them off Enkidu, their king’s equal and beloved friend. And Death had looked at Gilgamesh’s face and found it lacking in any of the emotion his own subjects are displaying wildly beneath him. It took half an hour before Uruk fell silent again and the people returned to their own homes.

The king walked away from the terrace as Death trailed closely behind.  Instead of returning to the throne or his private chambers, Gilgamesh hastily had ran down the steps of his palace, all while howling and shrieking as he tore through his garments and ripped even his own hair.

She didn’t follow him anymore. Something akin to dread had seized her as if warning her not to trek his path. Gilgamesh had begun to disappear into the thick forestry outside Uruk. Death would like to believe the king had allowed himself to be driven by madness. Lesser men than he who had been in the same position had given up. If anything it was impressive he managed to hold on as much as he had.

Still, she lingered and waited by the palace. The next afternoon she decided to cross the woods after all and was surprised to find that the once proud king was now just a vagrant in faded rags, interacting freely with the animals as if he was a beast and not a man.

It was then that Death took her leave. She should have left during the funeral yesterday for there are other dying creatures across the universe that need her more than this broken king. Death was not one to be moved by plain sentiment, if at all, so why did she even waste her time? She’s not one to reflect either, so she put it behind her now and never came back to Uruk.

 

 

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

 

 

It must have been a few weeks for Gilgamesh when she saw him again. Death’s concept of time was her own but she was never bound to it, so she could only approximate how long it was for him. When she found him, he was walking towards the shoreline, soaked to the bone, grasping onto something in one hand. The waves were particularly strong that day but they seemed to avoid touching Gilgamesh altogether, allowing him smooth passage back to the sand. Death was not waiting for him; she was actually on a short break, enjoying the scenery of the sea where its fluid depths could meet the horizon above. It was rather beautiful, and Death rarely finds that much beauty in life. 

She knew the king recognized her, but he paid her no heed even as they stood yards apart now. He looked almost like his old self except that he had allowed is golden locks to grow, reaching his waist. Death spoke up first and asked, “Where have you gone, child?”

“Everywhere,” was his hurried answer. He was still drenched but the scent of sea-salt on his skin was fragrant and she almost reached out to touch him just because. She didn’t though and waited for him to go on which he did. “I battled monsters as a perfunctory task, hunted and destroyed, conversed with a few strangers. And all for the promise that I would see the one the gods granted eternal life to—an immortality.”

“He denied you, of course,” Death always knew how the story goes and how it ends. “Did you really expect to be granted with the same privilege?”

“Not quite,” Gilgamesh raised the plant he had on his hand. The look of recognition in her eyes sealed it for him. He grinned.

“My, my,” she offered him a solemn smile. “It looks like you always get what you want after all.”

“Exactly,” Gilgamesh stared at the plant for a moment before he turned his head to the side where a snake had been crawling closer and closer towards them. Bending to his haunches, the king tossed the plant towards the reptile. “You want it?” he asked with a soft tone. “Go on, take it."

The snake obeyed and bit and chewed the plant which was unusual for its kind preferred meat not vegetation. The two of them watched in comfortable silence until the last leaf of the plant was devoured. It had happened so casually as if this wasn’t a definitive moment. Looking withdrawn by now, Death had nothing else to say to him except: “Do you even know what and why you’re giving up, Gilgamesh?”

The Urukian king straightened up and met her eyes for the first time since their meeting at the throne room.

“Only a fool wishes to be immortal, don’t you think so?”

And Death laughed. She’d never done that before. Nothing warranted her mirth and amusement until now. Nodding once, she told him. “All of you have often desired it because of some unfinished business, or the general fear of endings, maybe even the dread of being forgotten.” She closed the distance between them now as a hand reached to cup his chin. “Here is what being an immortal really means though: One, everybody else dies while you live. Two, nobody ever understands you. And three, everything—eventually—loses its meaning.”

Gilgamesh just stared at her with those crimson eyes more serpentine than she realized. Her hand moved to brush against his cheek now as she added, “Every candle's wick eventually must burn out. The wax would melt. The light is snuffed out. This is how it's always been for any mortal being. And when your kind becomes so concerned about cheating or delaying me, they always—without fail—forget to live.”

A hand shot up from the king’s left side, clutching around Death’s wrist. His voice shook as he whispered, “D-Do I die now? Must I still live?”

“But of course you should,” she smiled at him and it brightened up her face and lifted a burden in her shoulders she never knew had always been there since her sentience. “You haven’t even started to dream yet. Enkidu might be the one who went through my dominion yet you seem to be the ghost in this tragic story. Why don’t you dream, Gilgamesh?”

“There is great terror in my dreams,” he closed his eyes, his lower lip quivering.

“Every sea has its monsters,” Death cupped both his cheeks now, staring at his eyelids before she let go. “You will go back to Uruk, won’t you?”

“Where else would I go now but home?” Gilgamesh slowly lifted his eyes but he cannot seem to focus on her anymore.

“Then go home,” she commanded him, her tone encouraging and kind—warmth emanating from it as if Death herself had found a purpose to go on. “Dream. Live. Write your story. Carve it in hardened clay which you molded with your own fingers. Sire children. Forgive your mother. Rule your city like the king your people have always wished you could be.” She clasped her hands together now as if in prayer as a surge of affection took her by surprise. “And please, Gilgamesh: Love yourself like you have never been broken before.”

 

 

 

**|+|+|+|**

 

 

 

There is great terror in his dreams.

Gilgamesh was greeted by a gray sky hovering above him like a harbinger of bad news.

Enkidu’s name was upon his lips, but the taste of Arjuna was on his mind, carved into that space in his heart which never existed before.

He stayed on the ground like that, lying on his back. Lush greenery surrounded him; a sickness that won’t go away. He brought himself up slowly from the ground, taking his time so his muscles could adjust and his mind can function with more attentiveness. He took deep breaths and then rose up, clutching at a few vines on his sides which he ripped away once he was steady on his feet.

The King of Heroes remembered. He remembered a life long ago when Death was the only one who ever understood.

And he in return understood Death.

He muttered Enkidu’s name again and made himself swear he won’t forget it again.

And Arjuna...

This time he will make damn sure he wasn’t going to lose another friend.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a whole month. I'd appreciate reviews and some encouragement :)


	12. The Blackness: ARJUNA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some painful truths deserve their secrets. Others should not see the light of day.

 

* * *

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

_He didn’t know where he was going._

_Each twist in the pathway only seems to take him far away from the end of a road he doesn’t even have a name for. The overgrowth had almost pierced the sky by now, frightening in its width as it bloomed everywhere at once. Leaves and stalks and vines of various shapes and length even covered the land he was trekking on like a never-ending carpet of moss. There was no other sign of life from here on earth and up the sky—just that same eerie silence that consumed even his most private thoughts. But he marched on because his feet had reached a point where they had now become appendages separate from his conscious self. He could not stop walking even if he wanted to rest._

_Fatigue was just this numbness and apathy towards immediate reprieve._

_After what seemed like days of pure mindless trekking, the sky opened itself and poured rain into the wilderness. It didn’t do anything to wash away the exhaustion he felt in his very soul nor satisfy a thirst that felt as if it could never be quenched by water alone. And yet…_

_And yet he never felt lost at all._

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

The impact of his fall had been curtailed by the disgusting ooze still swirling across his body. Arjuna fought with every bout of strength he had left even as his muscles strained painfully under the indescribable weight of the supposedly liquid substance permeating foulness that can never be scrubbed off. He writhed pathetically for a while, eyesight barely focusing on anything concrete in his surroundings. 

As soon as his gaze darted upwards, what he saw almost made him choke out a gasp. White tendrils resembling elongated fingers canopied above him. They were branches that were whittled down by some kind of disease, lacking any kind of leaf. Their appalling pale nakedness caused the prince such a panic that his stomach knotted underneath him. Arjuna could taste bile at the back of his throat.

He squeezed his eyes shut and desist squirming in the black ooze’s mighty grasp.

The moment he stopped flailing around and wasting energy, the ooze loosened its claim on his fatigued body and instead slowly slithered across him like slimy tongue licking him even through his thick garments. A repulsive chill ran down the prince’s spine when he realized once more that this ooze was _sentient_ and seemingly attracted to him in such a way that it doesn’t know whether it should devour him in one swoop or keep strangling him until all the bones in his body break. Arjuna tried to discern what kind of abomination it was—he scoured his mind for myths and folklores he had read before in his personal library but none of them fit the description of this black ooze. All that he can understand about it is that being wrapped around its possessive hold was like a piteous violation on his very soul.

His breath was failing him yet again so he had to literally gulp up air in loud gasps before the lecherous thing around him succeeds in suffocating him. Arjuna could feel that he could past out at any moment, and he supposed it could have been poetic in a sense—to lose consciousness under the canopy of haunting white branches that looked as if they can cradle him in eternal embrace.

But then the Pandava prince thought of Gilgamesh and suddenly it became shameful to give up.

 _I have to find him. I have to tell him that we can’t have a present when I made a selfish wish to give up my future._ Could he really do that to the King of Heroes? To find him only so can tell him that their friendship was pointless since the prince would become a forgotten relic soon enough? For all his faults like his stubbornness and pride, would Arjuna be truly capable of breaking Gilgamesh’s heart?

As black spots grew behind his eyes, he also began to lose the sensation on his limbs. His mind remained like steel, however, determined to fight the molestation happening across his body even as the black ooze remained unbeatable at this stage. Like an answered prayer, Arjuna was granted unexpected reprieve from the foul clutch of the ooze and the entire thing just lets him go. He didn’t even have time to understand how it happened. One moment his bones are about to break and splinter and the next he was free. The prince willed himself to rise from the ground which he noticed was made up entirely of white sand. It didn’t make any sense at all. The dawning realization that he wasn’t in the wilderness—or at least not the wilderness he recognized—hit him like a punch in the gut.

He can’t comprehend what to do next, most probably due to the lack of oxygen his brain was still suffering at the moment. And then the prince felt hands roaming across his arms before pulling him up and Arjuna didn’t even struggle since he badly wanted to get to his feet anyway. Once standing upright though wobbling with the possible threat of vertigo, the prince slowly turned to the person who was serving as his crutch and blinked for a few seconds at the unfamiliar face that greeted him. He didn’t know whether he should rejoice that there’s _another_ person besides Gilgamesh whom he can interact with now or terribly paranoid that there’s another person who may have ulterior motives to hurt him.

Wrenching himself away from the stranger’s grasp, Arjuna almost collapsed back into the sand but managed to steady himself just in time. He glared at his rescuer, already mistrusting their motives for saving the prince in the first place. The person who stood before him was androgynous at best. He wasn’t sure whether it was a male or a female. The face was lovely and fresh as a woman’s, smooth and delicate in features and complexion. But the body beneath was muscled without any of the usual feminine curves like breasts and wider hips. Arjuna was still trying to figure out what to make of this individual when they spoke up.

“Do not fear me,” they said and even the tone and timber of their voice was lacking a gender to assign it to. It was just a voice and one so soothing and melodic that it made Arjuna even more suspicious of its owner. His rescuer, however, was not fazed by his quiet animosity and kept on talking, “I am not your enemy. You came here with a sickness in your soul and I simply helped by trying to exorcise it. I’m afraid that it was beyond my abilities though and whatever’s got a hold on you will return to finish what it started.” They took a step forward and Arjuna instantly stepped back. “Please. Let me hide you in the meantime. I can take you somewhere safe.”

“Who— _What_ are you?” the prince had to ask. If he were to accept this stranger’s aid, he had to know what he was getting himself into.

They put a hand on their chest, eyes fluttering shut. “Who I am does not matter for I no longer live but exist only in this broken dream.”

Arjuna blinked angrily. “What the fuck kind of response is that? I have no time to unravel cryptic messages. Speak plainly!”

“Plainly speaking,” the stranger used such a gratingly patient tone that Arjuna felt like punching them. But then the next words that came out of this odd being made him reconsider. They said: “I’ve been dead for a long time, and I only exist to walk through abandoned landscapes in dreamers’ minds which I took a fancy calling a ‘broken dream’. There have been so many of them now. Instead of being taken to House of Dust and Darkness, I was instead offered a duty by an Endless to tend to them and in case I find travelers like you, I would have to serve as a guide back to the waking world.” They paused to incline their head to the side, “Do all of this make sense to you?”

“I understand the language but not the meaning in your explanations completely,” Arjuna truthfully replied as he slowly regained a calmer composure this time. “What is this House of Dust and Darkness you spoke of? And did you just say… ‘Endless’?”

The stranger exhaled as if trying to figure out for themselves the best way to communicate the answers. Their blue eyes softened as they stared at Arjuna. “In the land I originally came from, the House of Dust and Darkness is merely what we call the world where the dead are taken for final rest. I’m sure your Hindu kind had an equal place for it? A so-called ‘afterlife’, yes?”

Arjuna narrowed his eyes when the stranger referred to his race quite candidly. “The land you came from?”

They shook their head. “Names and origins do not truly matter anymore—not to someone who had expired already.”

“Tell me about this ‘Endless’ then. You said this ‘Endless’ gave you a duty. Does that make you a guardian of sorts for these…’broken dreams’?”

A smile spread across the odd being’s lips. “You know the Endless, do you not? You are not of mortal ilk but a divine, are you?”

Instead of affirming that, the prince said, “I shall make the necessary introductions if you give me your name first.”

“I told you,” they exhaled again. “Names and origins do not—”

“If I am to trust you, I need to call you with something more concrete.”

“Very well,” the stranger placed their hands behind their back, still smiling. “You may call me ‘a companion to gods’.”

“Don’t you think ‘a companion to gods’ is a mouthful?” Arjuna was growing annoyed now with the evasive responses and so he took a few steps forward to close the gap between him and the other. “I am Arjuna of the Pandava, Prince and Awarded Hero, and I demand to know the namesake of the guardian of this broken dream as they had proclaimed so proudly themselves.”

He wasn’t sure if he imagined it but a flicker of sadness appeared in the stranger’s countenance as if the prince might have struck a chord he should not have. Arjuna was almost tempted to take it back and just settle for the verbose term that the odd being had deemed themselves as, but then they spoke up again with a voice more resolute and measured than the one they have been previously addressing him with.

The stranger said, “For you, divine Prince Arjuna, I shall be called Enkidu.”

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

_Sustenance and sleep were joys he was not permitted to partake in. The days and nights grew shorter as he traveled until they had already blended. The rains had never ceased too, beating down upon his weary body with a relentlessness that may as well have been self-aware. He had long suspected that this wilderness was a sentient creature but not necessarily a malicious one. Still, he could not help but feel as if it was always against him, consistently barricading any escape route or delaying any progress in his journey._

_Luckily for him, he wasn’t always alone. He had come here to navigate with a group of other travelers. They assigned landmarks to certain places and even managed to establish camps just a mile to the nearest water source. He headed there now with nothing but the drenched clothes on his back and his sack bearing weapons and tools. He could no longer hunt the rabbits at this point in time. There was something about the way they converged in flocks lately that unnerved him. Every time he got near one of them, five or six more would close in as if banded by hatred for their predator. Prey should not be able to display intelligence like that. This was why he was discouraged to hunt down the rabbits._

_He’d like to believe the souls of his companions had lived on inside said animals’ flesh._

_It was a piece of solace that kept him sane._

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

The companion to gods who called themselves Enkidu walked a few steps ahead Arjuna. At first they were willing to stay beside the prince but it was Arjuna who refused. He would like to keep Enkidu within his sight at all times which was why he requested that they stroll forward while the prince trailed behind. Enkidu looked at him with a baffled expression at first which softened into that of compassionate acceptance, one that only aggravated Arjuna’s paranoia. He knew he should be grateful for the assistance but he simply can’t trust too much.

The two of them had spent a good fifteen minutes in silence where only white sand and the occasional howling of the wind filled the rest. This new place the ooze had brought him to might as well have been a graveyard of endless trunks and branches that were unnaturally and blindingly white. He made the mistake of stepping too close to one of them, only to see that there were traces of rough boils resembling what looked to the prince as eczema on human skin. The sight was just disturbing and yet he could not tear his eyes away. Enkidu had to call his attention to snap him out of it otherwise he would have just stared at it the whole day.

“I know that’s what you want to do,” he heard Enkidu speak as if they knew exactly what he was thinking. “The travelers who got lost here did the same thing. They were drawn to those spots grimy spots in the barks until they were transformed into the lifeless trunks themselves. They found that their bodies have become diseased with those spots as well.” The tone Enkidu used now was regretful as if they wish they didn’t have to elaborate but they had to. “As much as this is a dreamscape, they carried the traces of the disease forever underneath the layers of their skin even after they woke up. I believe some of them even became cancerous.”

“The fuck…” was all Arjuna could say as his expression twisted into disgust that was also mixed with primal fear. Could something that should only exist in a dream really come alive when a person awakes? He didn’t dare find out. The prince just shoved his gloved hands inside the side slits of his angarkha and stalked ahead with his head bowed, refusing to look at the trunks this time.

When Arjuna can no longer take the restlessness, he began to interrogate Enkidu starting with the obvious question: “I could not tell whether you are a man or a woman.” He supposed it was rude to point it out but Arjuna felt somewhat that he had to know.

They afforded him a backwards glance and Arjuna saw the impression of an amused smile even in that awkward angle.

“I am neither, you can say. I was fashioned by the old gods from clay and functioned as a shape-shifter.”

“And how did you die? Let me rephrase: how _can_ you die? Clay possesses no soul.”

“Exactly, Prince Arjuna,” Enkidu’s tone was far too cheery for the grim topic of discussion. “That is why the Endless offered a consolation.”

Arjuna got quiet for a brief moment and spent that time to pay closer attention to the way his feet never sank in the sand at all. He looked behind him and found that there were no footprints or any other impressions left on its surface either. That was a little disconcerting but if this ‘broken dream’ was supposed to be a dreamer’s figment (one that wish-granter Watanuki explained before) then certain laws of physics may not apply to its topography. So instead he asked Enkidu, “Which of the Endless?”

“There were three of them who came to me,” Enkidu’s manner of speech was always so patient and soothing. “First was Destruction. He had been one of Inanna’s lovers, someone whom even the goddess of love and war herself could not overpower. He was an amicable man and took pity on what had happened to the kingdom where I used to dwell. He told me that destruction would always yield creation, just as any ending always brings about a beginning. Destruction loved life, truth be told. His vivaciousness was infectious.”

The prince hastened his steps to catch up to Enkidu. He was very much intrigued to hear the rest of the tale. “I know a few stories of the Endless back in my own land. Every culture has a representation of their kind. What I know that was a constant fact about them is that there were always seven of them. Destiny was the eldest followed closely by Death and Dream.” He paused as soon as he was now walking side by side with Enkidu. “It was them, wasn’t it? The other two who came to you and offered you this guardianship?”

Enkidu ceased walking. They were looking straight ahead as if seeing a mirage from a distance. “Death took me away from my Beloved. All creatures were borne by a woman and so it is with another woman whom they must find their end with. When I expired, she took me with her but knew that without an actual soul I cannot truly be laid to rest. But I do possess a consciousness and it can be something transferred into realms beyond the waking world. And that was why she brought me to her younger brother instead who is now my new master.”

“The Shaper,” Arjuna muttered in a hushed tone. “The Lord of Sleep. There are many names he is known with.”

“We simply call him ‘Dream’,” Enkidu glanced at Arjuna at last with another sad smile. “And you have a desire to see him, don’t you?”

“I had made an irreversible wish to the one who calls himself Watanuki,” Arjuna explained. “He was the one who told me about dreams that can outlive their own dreamers. And this place…” he looked around slightly as mild anxiety touched his features, creasing his forehead. “Is this one of them? Are broken dreams also abandoned by their dreamers? I’m sorry if I ask too much questions—”

“Prince Arjuna,” Enkidu interjected as a hand reached out to grip him lightly on the shoulder. “That corrosive essence you brought with you…do you know what it is?” Their gazes met. It felt intimate somewhat but Arjuna couldn’t look away.

“No,” he sounded hoarse now. “But perhaps it’s a form of a broken dream too?”

“I don’t think so,” Enkidu shook their head immediately. “But I believe it’s a sickness that has been slowly killing you.”

“What does that even mean?” The confusion was etched on his face as he questioned Enkidu for answers he dreaded he would never find.

When Enkidu said nothing, Arjuna grabbed their hands and squeezed. “You said you serve as a guide to help travelers who get lost in broken dreams to find a way back to the waking world. Are you offering me that aid then? Can I get out of here and be taken back to where I belong?”

“I can only offer to conceal you temporarily from the corrosion. But it has marked you and it will find you again.” A pause. “And yes, you can leave this specific landscape. I would ferry you out of here if I must. However…” Enkidu squeezed back his hands as if to console him. The blue in their eyes seemed deeper in shade now. Arjuna wanted to seize his hands away from their grasp but had no more fight in him left at the moment. He could only stare back into their kind yet sorrowful eyes as they declared:

“I’m so sorry, Prince Arjuna, but I’m afraid you are never waking up.”

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

_From a distance, the camps looked like they were sinking on the ground because of the large puddles of rainwater surrounding the place, but the group who had erected these abodes was composed of great craftsmen who may have foreseen a change in weather and so they fortified the foundations. He was confident these camps can shelter him while the storm continued to worsen. He made haste inside one of the tents and immediately began stripping himself bare so he can change into something warm._

_In the wilderness his body may feel fatigue and hunger and yet oddly not experience the common cold or any kind of debilitating illness. Another baffling and sometimes terrifying thing was that he could not empty his bowels at all. It was as if his body had become incapable of such a simple process of alleviating its wastes. This was worrying at first but he merely theorized that it’s because he hasn’t been eating that much anyway so there was nothing to expel in the end. Nothing was truly wrong with him._

_But in the deepest recesses of his mind where his private horrors come alive, he recognized that it was probably his denial that had enabled him to survive. It served as his shield from the many other mysteries that permeate across this continent; this lush greenery where the exiled were courted by madness and forced into a form of dissociation where all they thought they knew about themselves ceases to be real._

_The storm would rage on for days, he could tell, so there was no other choice but to remain sheltered within the vicinity of the camps. He had rationed his food to last him only for three more days. After that, he must hunt. If he had to kill a rabbit while its family watched then so be it. He could not starve. The last time he did he began to experience an acidic sensation in his stomach and chest. Unable to keep it all down anymore, he ended up hurling and vomiting the remains of his comrades._

_Among the sludge were chunks of what was left of ears and fingers. There were intact nipples and toenails even. He tried not to think about these atrocities he had committed in order to live and to live a shadow of his former self. Most days he wasn’t even sure he whether he was human or ghoul. Only the journal, his constant companion, preserved whatever humanity he still has tucked away._

_Ultimately he knew it wouldn’t be enough. The flame will flicker one last time before it reaches the end of the wick._

_He wondered if anyone will ever learn the truth of the monsters he had to keep at bay. Would his writings help the next traveler who would find himself trapped in this wilderness? On cue, his eyes drifted to the journal he had laid on his lap. There were still so many pages left but he was running out of ink. His goal has never been more clear though so he picked up his pen and began to lay out the rest of his harrowing tales._

 

 

‘I do not know my name anymore and the snippets of what I remember may not be as reliable as I would hope, but this is what I know about this place you might find yourself calling a ‘wilderness’. If you are the unfortunate soul who would address this place as such, then you must know by now that you are already doomed. First and foremost, you can never dissuade yourself from thinking about it as just that no matter how your other companions would tell you that it is indeed NOT a wilderness at all. They will never be able to help you—and in turn you will not be able to help yourself but feast on their remains once you slaughter them all…’

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting shorter chapters lately to make the suspense more compact as I slowly unravel pieces of the puzzle in the main story itself. Arjuna and Gilgamesh's relationship will be on the sidelines for a while since they are separated, but they will be thinking of one another and will definitely seek a way to be reunited. This chapter reveals a few more twists that I hoped delivered an impact, if not a growing sense of dread in you, readers :) Admittedly even I'm nervous with what is taking shape in this chapter and the succeeding ones. I plan on posting Gilgamesh's POV before December ends. 
> 
> Maybe as a belated Christmas present? Once again, reviews and theories are welcome and appreciated!


	13. The Blackness: GILGAMESH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilgamesh tries to find Arjuna and encounters more missing pieces to a puzzle he may not solve.

* * *

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

He was wearing his armor again. The gold weighed heavily as usual but the burden was always welcome.

Gilgamesh was strong after all and can carry the whole world if he must.

The sorrow in his heart deepened with each measured step he took as more memories of Enkidu returned to him. It wasn’t just their death that he remembered; Gilgamesh also recalled when the two of them were the happiest and those recollections only punctuated the loss of his friend. Something inside Gilgamesh refused to crack completely, however, and so he focused more on that now. He couldn’t allow himself to lose sight of what mattered right at this moment in this unfamiliar territory. His goal had never been clearer—he needed to find Arjuna.

He needed to find Arjuna and tell the other man—convince him, plead to him—that he didn’t have to be alone.

There were a few things he understood about the Prince of the Pandava in the short time they cohabited within the wilderness, and although they were scarce, Gilgamesh fiercely allowed himself to be anchored by them and guide him to his next destination. He hoped every turn he made would bring him closer to Arjuna no matter how foolish it was to believe it. Otherwise he would lose hope, and hope was the only thing that kept him trekking this landscape and ignoring the gnawing apprehension on his gut the further he went.

What he did know for certain at least was that he was no longer in the wilderness. It was also gong to rain soon, judging by the gray skies.

The ground on his feet was made of cement and concrete. Other than that, there was nothing to see for miles. There should at least be houses or some kind of infrastructure. Wherever he was, it was definitely an industrialized location. This pavement felt more solid on his feet than the overgrowth he had been so intimately familiar with for what felt like ages, and Gilgamesh felt almost disconcerted about that. How did he get here? The last thing he can recall was embracing Arjuna after that black ooze took him hostage.

They fell together somewhere—he certainly can remember falling into oblivion.

And then…

His steps slowed down a pace as he tried his best to rummage through his the jumble of his thoughts, but nothing stood out. It was as if his own mind was working against him and he never felt more betrayed in his entire life.

Perhaps this was exactly how Arjuna felt after he had learned of Gilgamesh’s deception—

—No, he shouldn’t think about that now. The gold was heavy enough already. He didn’t need the guilt.

 

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

_On the fourth week, he told everyone that their reserves have began to run low. Two of their companions left to hunt for food the very next day. The doctor and her son stayed behind with him, as well as the captain of the expedition. The ones who left were the soldier and anthropologist. Both volunteered for the task and were confident about accomplishing it. He certainly never would have been; not the measly research assistant who got simply caught up sharing the doctor’s lofty ambitions since he had none of his own. All he ever hoped to contribute in this expedition was his willingness to do whatever it takes to support his mentor on this scientific endeavor even if it meant abandoning ethics._

_The thing was he never got along with the doctor’s son. They clashed the very first time they met and they continued to butt heads even in this expedition. He never allowed personal biases to get in the way of doing his job, but the asshole just kept pushing all of his buttons._

_Now they’re all dead. He had picked them out by one by one, butchered and consumed them._

_He had filled a good twenty pages of the journal when he noticed that the rain outside finally ceased, and yet the clouds remained murky with no hopes of ever parting aside for sunshine. He sank back to the ground, clenching his hand around the journal because it was the only tangible companion available. Tomorrow he might journey across the wilderness again but it was not because he still had any hopes of ever leaving this place._ _No, not at all. His very essence had already bonded with the wilderness._

_He had no more desire to separate himself from it._

 

 

 

~o~o~o~o~o~o~ **O** ~o~o~o~o~o~o~

 

 

 

Gilgamesh must have blinked four or five times now as he stood there with his head tilted up high, but there was no mistaking it.

There was a palace in the middle of nowhere and he’s staring right at it.

He frowned deeply as the concern and slight apprehension soured his face. The oddity of this palace just appearing was suspicious and it would be unwise to go inside. Who knows what new horrors would await him there? But it wasn’t as if he had any other options. Gilgamesh was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and if he can’t figure out where he is and where he is headed then he might as well rest and recuperate. He hadn’t worn his golden armor in a while too, and so its weight was truly becoming a tiresome burden.

The King of Heroes stepped inside, the clanking of his armor echoing noticeably within the deserted place. It wasn’t as dark as he expected; there were lit torches that decorated the walls of the spacious main hallway. The floor was carpeted with a rich burgundy color. Pillars were encrusted with small jewels of different kinds. Other ornaments littered more vacant areas of the hallway and as a connoisseur of treasures, Gilgamesh’s attention would get caught fleetingly. He would pause walking to admire a certain artifact every now and then which actually calmed his nerves. It was an effective aesthetic distraction that at least gave him something else to occupy his mind.

Afterwards, he found himself exploring further inside the palace, walking up the luxurious and grand staircase while he kept his instincts open for any kind of interruption or attack. There were no more torches this time and once Gilgamesh reached the last flight, he hesitated to venture past that darkness. He was getting uneasy. The King of Heroes despised this small moment of cowardice because it was uncharacteristic of him. No, this cannot be. He must find a way to overcome even his deepest self-doubts. He was still Gilgamesh after all.

Walking while sorely deprived of sight was not an easy feat to accomplish, but he had done his best to endure and used his hands and auditory sense instead so he can make sense of the pathway laid before him. Gilgamesh didn’t stumble; his footing was always certain in spite of the added weight of the golden armor. Soon enough he reached a turning point. His fingers probed the edge of what he was sure was a door—

—he pushed it open once he figured out how the mechanism can be unlocked.

Light painfully flooded his sight out of nowhere. It made him narrow his eyes and stagger a little backwards as he raised one arm to shield himself from its assault. Once he had adjusted and recovered sufficiently, Gilgamesh blinked rapidly to clear the black spots in his gaze. He lowered his arm next and then peered into the room he had just opened the door to.

It was rather quaint. There were several bookshelves where there should have been walls. All lined up across one another, filled with so many books that the colors of their spines blended. Gilgamesh stepped inside, almost mesmerized by the tranquil state of things. There was a lightness in his being he could not explain. Something at the back of his mind reassured him that he would be safe here.

He took more resolute steps forward, not minding what he was walking into until he heard something crunch on his feet. It was a very distinct sound. Against better judgment, Gilgamesh looked down. He then raised his foot just a few inches from the ground to see what he crushed.

The carpeted floor was plagued with teeth. Its rich burgundy color like a sea of blood while the teeth were pearls.

“You shouldn’t be here,” came a voice behind him.

The King of Heroes whirled around quickly, prepared to defend himself, but was stunned to see that it was a face he recognized.

The boy spoke up again. “No one should be here.”

“Arjuna?” Gilgamesh blinked to make sure it wasn’t an apparition he was seeing. Standing before him was his dear friend—only younger. Desperate for a more tangible confirmation, he seized the boy closer, grabbing him by his arms.  “What happened? Where are we?”

“This is my home,” the young Arjuna glared at him although he didn’t try to pull away from Gilgamesh. “I’m all alone now. And I'm happy.”

The king wasn’t sure what it was exactly but something felt deadly wrong and it tingled him on his spine. He could only loosen his hold on the boy and take a few measured steps backward. Gilgamesh openly gazed at him now in disbelief and slow-curling fear.

“Arjuna,” his voice trembled as he inquired, “What have you done?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for all the delays. The holidays were spent writing for something else. And then my muse of this story got fickle with me hence the rather short length of this chapter. Words of encouragement will be greatly appreciated. I definitely need to get motivated/inspired again. Thanks to everyone who still looks forward to the updates. Happy New Year!


	14. The Blackness: ARJUNA 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We often only need to see the things that are already in front of us more clearly.

 

 

 

**=+=+=+=**

 

 

 

An abandoned clutter of the last six months’ newspapers had piled up on the table next to the sliding window. The shutter had been left ajar which allowed cold breeze to blow through the papers and make the pages flutter every now and then.

All of these newspapers were folded right onto the crossword puzzle page. The boxes were filled with hurried yet correct answers in black ink and impressive penmanship. Two mugs of tea and coffee both unfinished and by now lukewarm served as the paperweight. One was molded in clay with its rim encrusted with small diamonds; while the other was made of a simple creamy ceramic that’s lean and smooth.

In the farthest corner of this large bedroom was Arjuna, and he was frowning at the mirror with an almost murderous intent.

Lithe and dusky fingers kept tying the piece of garment around his collar, but it was nothing more but a futile attempt to attach it perfectly in place. He had failed for the fifteenth time by now, and yes, of course yes, he had to keep score.

He doesn’t like bow ties at all. He doesn’t get them and never will, but tonight he has to wear one for this equally ridiculous social event.

With a long, impatient sigh, Arjuna adjusted the offensive ribbon around his collar, trying to figure out how to put it on perfectly so it could fit the rest of the ensemble of his elegant attire for the evening. No matter how much he tried, he just can’t tie it properly.

Perhaps he should have selected a clip-on instead…

No, fuck that. Arjuna Pandava was not lazy or cheap to even bother considering the prospect of putting on a clip-on bow tie. That would have been even more mortifying than this regular bow tie!

He reminded himself to calm down after he realized that he was beginning to lose his composure over such a minuscule thing. Obviously, his anxiety over this entire party was manifesting in the simplest if not the most childish of ways.

Yes, this was about the party, and not because he hates the fact that he can’t put on a bow tie, a task that he was sure hundreds of other men can do efficiently—and yet he cannot. He, Arjuna Pandava!

Arjuna suddenly ripped the bow-tie off his collar so he can look down at it with a glare he cannot conceal. The only redeeming quality it has was that it’s blue, which happened to be his favorite color. Well, his favorite color is white, but he had made a mistake of claiming that around some ignorant fool once, and who then argued that white is ‘technically’ the absence of color. Therefore, it’s not a color, let alone something Arjuna Pandava can favor. Such a presumption was a tad insulting and almost earned a punch in the face. Never mind that. He simply looked incontestably remarkable in white and that was why his attire for the evening was exactly of that supposed ’absence of color’.

He glanced back at his reflection. Yes, he was still as perfect as ever, but that was not a consoling thought at the moment.

With another sigh, he decided to try putting on the bow tie again, taking his time to get it right.

He was so consumed by this singular endeavor that he didn’t even notice that someone had been leaning against the frame of the doorway, observing his agony with a delighted glint in his captivating crimson eyes.

This man approached him after a while. He walked with an unusually languid gait that contrasted the intense concentration on his expression. When he reached Arjuna, he merely patted him by the shoulder before that hand glided across so his fingers can clutch gently around the collar. And Arjuna easily turned to face him although his own expression remained quite sullen.

This other man, Gilgamesh, could not suppress his chuckle at all upon seeing that. He stood at least a few inches taller than Arjuna, his gold-spun hair always shining even when there is no light directly passing through it. He had donned a black tuxedo which he of course effortlessly made divine just by virtue that it was on his body. But whatever. Arjuna pretended not to notice any of these things.

“You always pout when you fail to accomplish something,” Gilgamesh said as he began fixing the bow-tie himself. The scent of his skin even under the layers of clothing aggravated Arjuna. Why did he have to smell so damn good? What a nuisance!

Gilgamesh just shook his head as his smile widened. “It _is_ rather pathetic that the magnificent Arjuna Pandava can’t even tie a bow.”

“Oh, so you think this is funny?” He shoved Gilgamesh away just a little to express his disdain over being made fun of.

“Absolutely,” Gilgamesh only grinned before implanting a quick kiss on Arjuna’s cheek. He had already finished with the bow-tie.

“Don’t get smug now,” Arjuna’s tone was a little cold, warning the other man not to mess with him further.

“Then what’s the point of being married to you if I don’t get to embarrass you every now and then?” Gilgamesh linked his arm around Arjuna’s, still smiling openly as he teased his spouse once more. “I always have the most fun at your expense especially over dumb things like this.”

“You’re the dumb one,” was all Arjuna could come up with as he stiffened the moment Gilgamesh was standing next to him with their arms intertwined like that. Five years into their marriage and the other man could still take his breath away with the most careless of touches.

He hated that. It was inconvenient for Arjuna to let another person have that kind of power over him—but that’s exactly how it is...

...because love is stupid.

“Nice comeback,” was all Gilgamesh said before he leaned again to steal yet another kiss on the cheek. Arjuna anticipated and was able to avoid it this time. He took that as a small yet meaningful victory before he dragged his dumb, smug and beautiful husband out of the room.

 

 

 

**=+=+=+=**

 

 

 

Arjuna kept to himself for most of the party, but he also often had to join in conversations when certain groups of people would ask his opinion about some dreary topic they think he cares about. The courtesy came easily to him because he had played this role so many times before; the role of a perfect ‘prince’ who can please the crowd and blend in seamlessly with the elite which he secretly loathed to be labeled as. 

This was how he met Gilgamesh Gould. It was in a party just like this one several years ago. He remembered hating the other man with the kind of utter vehemence he only reserved for his own self. In retrospect, he would have been much happier leaving it simply as that, but then Arjuna’s curiosity got the best of him because no matter how much Gilgamesh displeased, offended and unnerved him, the fact remained that he just couldn’t bring himself to stay away. Neither of them could. And so eight dates of heated arguments followed by tons of angry sex later, they got hitched and no one is more shocked about that development than Arjuna. If anyone who would listen to the story of How They Met would afterwards proclaim it as the most romantic they have ever heard, he would honest to gods throw up on them and never apologize.

He was pretending to pay attention to a group conversation concerning finances and whatever else rich people always seem to worry about when Arjuna scanned the banquet hall in search of his spouse. Gilgamesh was not that difficult to spot. He was literally always the center of attention. Case in point, he’s standing in the middle of a flock of men and women who are disgustingly smitten by his presence and possibly flattering him with empty compliments in hopes Gilgamesh would take them to bed regardless of the marital fidelity he vowed. Arjuna wasn’t threatened. He wouldn’t mind if Gilgamesh would take another lover. Maybe that would lessen the copious amount of time he had to spend with the insufferable man in favor of possibly enjoying a quiet breakfast by himself or reading a few new books he had left shelved for too long.

He thought of these things as he observed Gilgamesh in his natural habitat, but the moment said man met Arjuna’s gaze and gave him that irritating dazzling smile, all dreams of savoring his precious solitary activities were easily forgotten. He doesn’t smile back at Gilgamesh all the time, preferring instead to nod in acknowledgment. Still, there was something inside him that would soften and melt in a gooey mess of _feelings_ every time he was graced by the obvious and intense attention by this other man, one he had more reasons to not marry and yet did.

And so when Gilgamesh smiled at him like that again, Arjuna gave the same courtesy nod as always, but his chest kept constricting with every bated breath. He had to try rather hard not to lose composure before the company he was with and—gods forbid—even blush.

Gilgamesh is stupid. Love is so stupid. Maybe Arjuna is too, but he'd rather be caught dead than admit it.

 

 

 

**=+=+=+=**

 

 

 

Everybody had gone home except the two of them. Arjuna just wanted a quiet evening by the terrace where he can sip tea and read a book, but Gilgamesh once again had other plans—selfish plans that always had to include Arjuna. He supposed that’s what marriage is supposed to be about so how come he’s resisting the solidarity that can be found in couplehood?

The vehicle that his annoyingly spontaneous husband had decided to commandeer tonight was a rather tacky orange pick-up truck. Arjuna could argue that it’s uncharacteristic of Gilgamesh to select a muscle car like that but he did purchase a yellow motorcycle last year on a whim so he never knows what to expect from the other man when it came to his lavish spending. As much as he thought his spouse was far too indulgent in acquiring material possessions, Arjuna never criticized him about it since they both came from affluent backgrounds and have agreed to keep their own inheritance separate. Personally, he had more frugal habits but did enjoy the occasional finery.

He was already dreaming about coming home to relax all by himself on the terrace when Gilgamesh gestured for him to follow him at the back of the truck. Without a word, he then unlocked the trunk to reveal that the roomy space there had been furnished with a fluffy futon blanketed in silk sheets and an assortment of pillows with vibrant colors and designs. Arjuna stared, utterly horrified. “What the fuck is this?”

Before the other man could explain himself, Arjuna retorted with, “It didn’t look like this when we drove to the party. And I knew you couldn’t have snuck out to do this. That means you had other people prepare this earlier, didn’t you?” He shot a glare at Gilgamesh. “I don’t appreciate such deception. Now if you think I’m having sex out here in the open with you then perhaps it’s time that I file for that overdue divorce. Did you actually think that something so contrived and cheesy would—”

“Gods, Juni, you always threaten divorce whenever you get embarrassed and flustered about every romantic gesture I bequeath you,” the abhorrent man rolled his eyes and then patted Arjuna on the back, pushing him to climb inside. “And this isn’t some cheap way to finally get you to agree to public sex. Would you relax and just enjoy the evening with me?”

“I should have brought a weapon with me,” Arjuna’s vehemence was dripping with every word spoken yet he climbed onto the back of the truck anyway. He did stomp on a few pillows to express how much he hated this. “After all, you always have a way about you that makes me want to stab you bloody!” He scoffed the moment he heard his spouse only laugh that off.

“Is this your passive aggressive way of suggesting the addition of knifeplay into our lovemaking? You’re always into the kinkiest shit, aren’t you?” is all that Gilgamesh said as he climbed in and pulled Arjuna to sit closer, instantly crowding his personal space.

“Five minutes,” Arjuna said through gritted teeth. “I’m allowing this for five minutes and then we go home!”

His murder-worthy husband only nuzzled his nose on his shoulder before he started nipping at Arjuna’s collar, using his teeth to undo the bow-tie and then the buttons. Gilgamesh was always such a gifted expert in anything that required oral precision. It took him less than a minute to remove everything out of the way so that Arjuna’s throat was exposed and ready for his other ministrations. He never used his hands once as he began sucking and biting tenderly on the sensitive spots of Arjuna’s neck.

“Would you stop trying to jump me every second of the day?” He pushed off Gilgamesh though lacking with the strength that he wanted.

“I was just trying to calm you down,” the grinning idiot laughed even as the wind was knocked out of him a bit. He sat beside Arjuna now on the comfortable futon, gazing at him in that open way he always does as if he can see every secret Arjuna hoards. It was always been a sickening look. He scoffed at Gilgamesh and scooted away although there isn’t much room to go to, not with the stupid pillows taking up more space that they should. On impulse, he threw out two of them so he can make room for himself.

“Relax,” his spouse insisted with a chuckle. Something melodious now enveloped his tone. “And do smile. You have the kind of smile that someone might die for just for the slim chance they might glimpse it.”

He froze. “What did you just say to me?” And then he turned to meet Gilgamesh’s gaze.

Their eye contact always made Arjuna itch with a familiarity that demanded for his nails to dig out, so he stopped gazing at Gilgamesh in favor of looking up the sky instead. A brilliant landscape of stars welcomed him as he did and what was supposed to be beautiful somehow only worsened his mood. There is something about the stars that threatened to overwhelm. Arjuna felt like he was going to pass out.

He could detect a faint buzzing in his ears—

“Can you even remember life before us, Juni?” Gilgamesh spoke up, interrupting the stream of his private contemplations. He sank into the futon, stretching his legs until his feet almost stuck out of the trunk. Arjuna traced the creases on his black pants now as he listened in silence, “Sometimes to me it felt like the last five years we’re together happened in a blink of an eye and you’re just here. I get rather uncomfortable about it—how you make the rest of the world disappear until all my focus is just on you…”

He trailed off to look at Arjuna but he was still staring blankly at nothing. With an audible sigh, Gilgamesh then asked, “Don’t you just wish we can stay like this forever? Just keep the world at arm’s length and live in our own little piece of heaven?”

“This isn’t heaven,” Arjuna didn’t mean to be so abrupt but his eyes snapped back at the other man with a more severe expression. “To me it feels more like purgatory—limbo—some form of liminality.”

“You always overthink. That’s why you’re unhappy.” Gilgamesh cocked his head to the side and gave an almost sheepish smile. “Not everything is a puzzle you must analyze and solve, Beloved. You don’t have to look at everything in such a rational standpoint where you must assign logic and find a definitive explanation.” He sighed softly as his wine-dark eyes held Arjuna’s, refusing to set him free.

“We must allow mysteries to exist in the world. Otherwise, life simply becomes too ordinary, and we won’t have any reason to explore new depths, desire new heights and shape our destines.” A pause. And then: “Once you give that up, you end up making a wish you will regret.”

Arjuna’s expression darkened. “This isn’t right. You…you’re not right.” He quickly turned away and glanced around his surroundings with both caution and haste until he tilted up his face again to stare at the stars. He opened his mouth to say something but he found that to confirm it with speech would become his undoing. Instead, he began to laugh. It was broken and exasperated, and his chest was so tight and painful as if a foreign object had been lodged there. The buzzing in his ears was louder now, demanding attention.

“I’m not really here, am I?” he spared Gilgamesh a sideway glance, more certain than ever that it wasn’t him at all.

And this wasn’t his life. He wasn’t married and in love. And this Gilgamesh was not Gilgamesh nor was it ever a living person to begin with. Anger hardened his resolve, lending him courage as he spat out, “What are you? Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m not anything. And you’re doing this to yourself,” the creature who had Gilgamesh’s façade sat up again, reclining very slowly until it was in its most desired position. “We’re inside you, Juni. This is the world that could have existed for you if only you chose wiser and didn’t give up on what makes you Arjuna Pandava. You’re here because you can’t go anywhere else.”

“No, shut up,” Arjuna shook his head, convinced that there must be some sort of mistake. “I remember the real Gilgamesh. The wilderness. And then this guardian of broken dreams called Enkidu. Wherever I am and whatever you are—there must have been an incident. Maybe the black ooze took me again. There must be a reason I ended up here and now you’re fucking with me and rewriting my memories!”

With a jolt, he tried to stand but the futon was treacherous underneath him and he had to find purchase quickly so he can maintain his balance while he towered over the non-Gilgamesh still sitting down. This creature was neither smiling nor frowning now. It just stared and waited.

“Please,” Arjuna could not believe he was reduced to begging. “Please just let me go.”

“You’re not being kept by me,” Non-Gilgamesh’s tone was so detached but Arjuna could sense there was also a hint of amusement. “And if you want answers to the questions you have at the moment then you will get down this trunk, get to the driver’s seat, and start the engine.”

“And where are we going?” Arjuna tried to regain his composure as best as he could this time while he listened to further instructions. It wasn’t as if he was offered any more choices. “What do you want me to do?”

Non-Gilgamesh shrugged its shoulders dismissively. “I have no wants. And you’re the one who needs to learn truths, Arjuna, truths that I can give you as long as you accept where you are now and why this had happened to you to begin with.”

“Then tell me—or show me, please…”

“Then start driving,” it replied, “Once you get behind the wheel, you will know for yourself where you’re headed.”

“And you’re staying right here?” Arjuna’s voice was cracking with fear and agitation as he kept himself still whole he stood.

“I’m not anywhere but inside you, Juni,” Non-Gilgamesh smiled now but it was wrong on its face as if emotions weren’t really supposed to belong there. “And if you want to find Gilgamesh—this man who will probably be the last person you would ever connect with—then you need to go to the last place you ever want to return to. Do you know what that means? Are you starting to understand things better?”

“The wilderness,” was Arjuna’s immediate reply as his eyes watered slightly.

Non-Gilgamesh stared in silence for the longest few seconds. It looked like the King of Heroes in every way, even in those wine-dark eyes Arjuna had always believed were unique only to the man. Cocking its head to the side again, it answered:

“Juni, there is no wilderness. But you’ve known this all along, haven’t you?”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...what do any of us really know about anything?


End file.
